


The Boy From The Future

by bellerose33



Category: Dark (TV 2017)
Genre: Abuse, Also my heart hurts for like every character, Attempt at Humor, Awkwardness, But definitely for everyone else, Canon Compliant, Character Death, Character Development, Consent, Death, Drama, Especially our butterfly boy, Even though I literally control everything that happens here, F/M, Family, Family Secrets, Feels, First Kiss, First Time, Firsts, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy, Honestly I’m frustrated, Humor, Humour, Identity Issues, In this fic he has friends though he’s not a lonely boy, JUST KISS ALREADY, Light Angst, Love, Masturbation, Original Character(s), Puberty, Romance, Sad, Secret Identity, Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Harassment, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Teenagers, Teens, Time Travel Shenanigans, Timey-Wimey, Trauma, Unhappy Ending, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Will They Won’t They, except Nik because we don’t like him, friendships, relationships, slowburn, xoxo gossip girl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:41:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 17
Words: 132,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25906033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellerose33/pseuds/bellerose33
Summary: Follows Mikkel's journey from the beginning to the end to the beginning... OBVIOUS SPOILERS ACROSS ALL 3 SEASONS.
Relationships: Aleksander Tiedemann | Boris Niewald/Regina Tiedemann, Charlotte Doppler/Peter Doppler, Hannah Kahnwald/Michael Kahnwald | Mikkel Nielsen, Ines Kahnwald & Michael Kahnwald | Mikkel Nielsen, Jonas Kahnwald & Michael Kahnwald | Mikkel Nielsen, Katharina Nielsen/Ulrich Nielsen
Comments: 392
Kudos: 88





	1. The Boy in the Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikkel is just an ordinary eleven-year old boy, until a drug heist turns deadly under the cover of darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone :)
> 
> This is my first FF on here so please be kind.
> 
> This story will carry you through the entirety of Mikkel/Michael's journey into the past and his life as a boy out of time. The first few chapters will focus on the events of season one, so they will be a retelling of scenes you know already, except with added thought processes and obviously scenes to fill in the gaps that we didn't see onscreen. After this I will be filling in the gaps between seasons and continue on until June 21st 2019. I tried to follow the scenes as closely as possible to create an authentic retelling of Mikkel's story. Because the story begins when he is only 11, there won't be too much romance for a while, however as he gets older relationships will come into play, and this will focus on his relationship with Hannah, although there may be one or two others also. Mainly, I just wanted to explore every element of Mikkel's tragic life, and perhaps take a look at some of his more positive experiences we didn't see too.

Chapter One – The Boy in the Present  


_November 4th, 2019  
_  
November fourth was a day that started out like any other. A crisp late autumn Monday, Mikkel had awoken to a typical family breakfast, slightly more chaotic this morning, however, as it was the first day back to school after the mid-term break for Halloween. His father had gone to the bakery to grab some pastries for breakfast, Magnus was storming around the house in search of his jacket, Martha was on a ridiculous hunger strike and his mother was at the centre of it all, barking out orders which mainly consisted of telling Mikkel to get changed out of his skeleton onesie and into something more appropriate for school. Ensuring strict dress code and punctuality was extra important to his mama, seeing as she was the principal of Winden’s high school. It was his papa finally arriving with breakfast that saved him from his mother’s admonishing glares as he took a seat at the table in protest.  


After performing a nifty little magic trick for his father (rather flawlessly, Mikkel thought), he slid out the front door with his father, who drove him to school before departing for the police station where he worked, successfully still sporting his infamous onesie. Not long ago, Mikkel had demanded he be allowed to walk to and from school alone, or better yet, ride a bike (a set of wheels was already on his Christmas list this year). But then Erik Obendorf had mysteriously disappeared, and all hopes of growing independence had vanished right along with him.  


Mikkel had started high school last autumn, where already he had plenty of friends who were always eager to see another magic trick or plenty willing to laugh at his endless repertoire of jokes. Mikkel didn’t much like school but he enjoyed spending time with his friends. He’d been warned by both Martha and Magnus to avoid them both at all costs, as they didn’t need him spoiling their reputation (like they had any), and Mikkel was only happy to oblige. Occasionally however, he would pass Magnus or Bartosz in the school corridor, and become the unwilling victim of a sharp whack around the head. Despite this, Mikkel was reasonably popular and well-liked amongst his peers, and he was growing more confident with high school life by the day. Some might have gone so far as to label him a show-off, but he didn’t like to think so. Still, he was anticipating the day he could finish school for good and leave the books and numbers behind, and instead focus solely on his career in trickery and illusion, following in his idol Houdini’s footsteps.  


As his father drove him to school, he passed his old Grundschule, where kids were educated until they were ten years old. Outside the building, he spotted Elisabeth Doppler on a bench beside the old wooden activity frame, deep in signed conversation with a boy he did not know the name of and recognised by face only. Winden being a relatively small German forest town, it was easy not to know everyone personally, but it _was_ pretty easy to know faces, at least. He knew Elisabeth reasonably well as her mother worked with his father at the police station, so she had been to his house on a few occasions. She was deaf, so impressing her with jokes was a no-go, and she never seemed to be amused by any of his magic tricks. Elisabeth was one of those he figured deemed him a bit of a show-off, but his friend Felix had told him in confidence one morning recently that he was certain it was only because she _liked_ him that she pretended to dislike him in the first place. As in, _liked_ liked him. Mikkel had groaned at this revelation: girls were kind of gross and it just made him feel awkward. He couldn’t ever imagine himself being like his sister, Martha, who had spent hours every day mooning over Jonas Kahnwald, at least before his father had died and he’d disappeared to France for two months. No, he would never waste his time gushing over any girl. Who needed pointless relationships when there was so much magic, illusion and trickery to be discovered?  


He felt bad for Jonas, though. His parents nor his siblings hadn’t told him too much, but he knew that Jonas’ papa had taken his own life. Mikkel couldn’t imagine not having a father, or why anyone would choose to end their own existence. And then Jonas had disappeared to France on some school exchange or something. But he knew Jonas had returned to Winden recently. He hoped he was okay, now. Mikkel liked Jonas much more than any of his siblings’ other friends.  
And now his sister was dating Bartosz Tiedemann, who was a huge downgrade in Mikkel’s opinion. His father was the manager of the nuclear power plant, so money was no object for Bartosz, and as such he always came across as childish and lazily arrogant.  
Not ten minutes later he arrived at school, and Mikkel caught sight of Felix loitering outside the school grounds. He said goodbye to his papa and headed off to greet his friend, ready to begin another dull day just like any other. How could he have known this day would be anything but?

*

The day took a turn from the typical when, by a stroke of luck, his ‘babysitter’ called in sick that evening, and because his parents were occupied with the parents meeting at the high school, he was to tag along with his siblings, Jonas and Bartosz in pursuit of Erik’s illicit drug stash, which meant their destination was the cave deep in Winden forest, where supposedly Erik hoarded his bootleg supplies.  
It was Magnus who dragged him along with him, and when they arrived under the bridge, there was Martha and Jonas, deep in discussion as Martha lightly treaded the disused train tracks. Martha wasn’t happy to see him (how many times did he have to remind them he wasn’t a baby anymore?), but Jonas was, and he didn’t hesitate to share an _ultimate fist bump_ with him before Bartosz arrived and the group set off on their adventure, howling like wolves to the glittering full moon.  


After some time passed, Mikkel had already grown bored of their dubious escapade, although not long after suggesting they head back home did they arrive at the cave’s entrance, where Elisabeth’s sister Franziska met them, beating them to the jackpot, much to Bartosz’s dismay. There was a chill in the air as the pair argued and Bartosz pushed Franziska to the ground, claiming the stash as his own. Mikkel could have sworn he heard a noise, a crackle of twigs or shift of dirt beneath light feet in the woods somewhere. None of the others seemed to be paying much attention, until suddenly somewhere deep in the heart of the cave an unimaginable sound erupted and their flashlights flickered relentlessly. The others began to shout and flee, but he and Jonas hung back for a moment. There was something… he didn’t know what, but there was something not right about this… and yet, the mouth of the cave seemed to call for him, whisper his name beneath its unearthly growl. Before he could ponder for a second longer, Jonas had grabbed his arm and the boys ran to catch up with the others.  


Seconds that felt like hours ticked by, and when Mikkel turned to check behind him, to ensure Jonas was at his heels, he was disturbed to find he wasn’t. Yet before he could even begin to comprehend his absence, there he was again, hand extended. But something was different about him, although Mikkel was too anxious and full of nervous adrenaline to question this.  


‘Quick! This way!’ And so Mikkel took his hand.  


Yet Jonas was leading him in the wrong direction, back towards the cave. When Mikkel asked him why, Jonas told him that there was something in the forest, something evil, and that they had to return to the cave. How Jonas knew this, or what exactly this evil thing was, Mikkel never thought to ask, but such was his bond with Jonas that he trusted him. Why would his friend lead him to danger, after all? Although the cave was now silent, it remained an ominous beast against the ink-stained sky, the magnificent full moon illuminating every rock and sharp edge of its structure. Mikkel tried to be brave as Jonas pulled him inside, tried to remind himself he wasn’t a baby anymore. He let Jonas steer him further and further into the depths of the cave as he expertly navigated the stony labyrinth like he had made this journey a thousand times before. Jonas pulled open an engraved door set in the cave wall, although Mikkel couldn’t make out the markings, and crawled through a small tunnel, Mikkel at his feet. A draft, a strong breeze that was somehow harsh yet warm like a spring afternoon smothered them as they crawled on all fours, deeper and deeper into the unknown.  


After what felt like hours, the boys exited the tunnel and settled in a corner of the cave where the rocky interior was smoother and they had space to sit and stretch their legs. It was so dark that Mikkel could barely see the outline of Jonas’ yellow raincoat. Mikkel was panting with both fear and exertion, and his heart felt ready to pound right out of his chest. What was happening? Why was it safe here, of all places? Were his parents and siblings okay? Were they wondering where he was? So many questions, yet all Mikkel could say was ‘I’m scared.’ _Like a little baby_ , he thought to himself miserably.  


‘It will all be okay,’ Jonas whispered into the darkness. He took hold of Mikkel’s trembling hand, small and cold in his calloused warm one, and Mikkel felt his breathing begin to slow, his heart no longer beating like a wild drum. ‘We’ll be safe here. In the morning, everything will be as it was, as it should be.’  
And after several long and silent minutes, Mikkel felt himself begin to drift off, Jonas’ arms around him, comforting him, as the dim light of the cave gave way to the total darkness of sleep.

*

Mikkel awoke the following morning with a jolt. It took a few seconds to register exactly where he was, and the strange events of the night before. Had it not been for the walls of the cave surrounding him on all sides, he would have believed it was all an elaborate dream. Yet his body ached and his stomach growled and his bones were tired. He turned to ask Jonas if they could start heading home, that he was hungry and tired and that he needed to make sure his family was okay.  


But Jonas was nowhere to be found.  


Mikkel began to panic. His heart was replicating that wild drum beat of last night, and he began to feel uncomfortably warm despite the wicked bite of early November air in these dreadful caves. Why would Jonas leave him here, all alone? Had something happened to him?  


‘Jonas! Jonas! _Hallo!_ ’ His shouts dissolved into the oppressive darkness.  


No reply. No sounds, not even a stir.  


‘Jonas?’  


This time his voice was small, quiet, a secret heard by no one but himself.  


Jonas was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, the chapters may get increasingly longer (I'm working on it, sometimes I get carried away!). 
> 
> I did initially think of writing a Noah/Elisabeth fic, but seeing as we already have an abundance of them, this was my next calling and I'm really enjoying it so far. Mikkel's story was always something I wished we had seen a little more of in the show, so this is a fun way to fill that void :)
> 
> \- Bethanie


	2. A Journey Through Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikkel wakes up in 1986 and begins a search for answers that are not forthcoming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you badlyinjured for you kind comment on the last chapter :)

Chapter Two - A Journey Through Time

_November 5th, 1986_

Mikkel paced around the cave in a small circle, debating with himself on what his next move should be. Eventually he opted to just sit and wait, just in case Jonas planned to come back with help and had simply bet on Mikkel waking up later. But he wouldn’t wait too long. He was tired and hungry and scared, and he wanted to get home as soon as possible. He sat himself down once more, leaning against the rough cave wall. He checked his watch too many times to count, and after an hour had been and gone with no sign of Jonas or anyone else, he decided there was nothing else for it: he was going to have to get _himself_ out of these damn caves. And he was going to have a few stern words to throw at Jonas once he had, too. If Jonas was okay, that was, and hadn’t succumbed to some mysterious fate like Erik Obendorf. He shivered despite himself, climbed to his feet and began his escape from the oppressive darkness, a hot shower and a warm bed sharp in his mind.

*

Getting back out of the cave was no easy task, but somehow, he eventually caught sight of the bright white of early morning sky, a small window of solitary light in this gloomy tomb, and finally he emerged from the cave’s entrance, scratched and scuffed and bruised something silly but thankfully all in one piece. Something seemed different, out of place, about the surrounding forest, although Mikkel couldn’t quite put his finger on why that was. As he walked, savouring the clean, fresh air and the soothing glow of the morning sun, his mind wandered. _Why_ was no one looking for him? Where was Jonas? Why wasn’t there a search for him? Shouldn’t there have been countless officers waiting outside the cave for his safe return? Did his family not _care_ that he hadn’t been home all night? None of these were comforting thoughts, but he forced himself onward in the hope of answers when he returned.

As Mikkel walked through the streets leading to his house, he noticed again that his surroundings weren’t quite right, except this time it was easier to spot why. The cars looked different, somehow dated. Homes he saw on a regular basis looked different, be it the colour of their front doors or the sculpt of their lawns or the patterns of the curtains that framed the windows. And somehow, inexplicably, even the air seemed different, an indescribable alteration that taunted his senses.

Arriving outside his home, these subtle changes persisted. A motorbike was parked on the driveway, along with a dated black car, neither of which he’d ever seen before in his life. Mikkel dug in his coat pocket for his house key and attempted to unlock the front door, but found the key simply would not connect with the lock. Strange. As he fruitlessly continued jostling with it, the door swung upon, not as a result of Mikkel’s futile efforts but rather because of the gangly teenaged boy who now stood before him.

Mikkel took a step back and met the boy’s eyes, disturbingly familiar. ‘Who are you?,’ Mikkel asked the stranger at his doorstep.

The youth looked him up and down, a smirk tugging at his lips as he replied, ‘Why? Who are you?’

Was this a joke? ‘Mikkel. I live here.’

The boy stared at him, still smirking as though this was all somehow very amusing. ‘Ulrich. And I live here.’

Mikkel stared at him. None of this made any sense at all. Was this all some elaborate joke to punish him for staying out all night and skipping school this morning? The boy’s next words brought Mikkel back to the present.

‘You going to grow roots? You’re at the wrong house, fool.’

‘Hey, Ulrich! Come on, we need to go!’

The boys turned to the source of the disruption; a teenaged girl, blonde and sporting a purple and cream varsity jacket. She eyed Mikkel curiously from beside the parked motorbike in the driveway.

‘Yeah, Katharina, I’m coming.’

The boy named Ulrich turned back to Mikkel. ‘Are you dense? You don’t live here.’ And with that, he shoved past him and mounted his bike. The pair muttered something and glanced back at Mikkel, who was still glued to his doorstep in disbelief. Then the girl whacked the boy over the head, reminding Mikkel painfully of Magnus, who would hit him playfully over the head in such a similar fashion it was unnerving. She climbed on the bike behind the tall teenager, and Mikkel watched as they drove away, the girl still peering curiously back at him as she rounded the corner and disappeared from view.

Mikkel didn’t understand what was going on, but his head hurt too much from an uncomfortable night in the cave to even try to comprehend what had just happened. Ulrich? Katharina? He might be confused, hungry, scared and tired, but what he wasn’t was stupid. A stupid kid might not put two and two together, but Mikkel recognised his parents’ names, alright. What this meant exactly, admittedly he wasn’t sure, but he got his first clue as he glanced down at the newspaper on the doorstep, its headline boasting the title _‘Chernobyl – half a year later_ ’. Mikkel’s eyes wandered to the date in the corner.

5th November 1986.

1986.

_1986._

*

If this was a joke, it was an admirable attempt, because every nerve in Mikkel’s body was paralysed with fear at that very moment. Mikkel could only will himself to believe, if this was not some powerful and highly-detailed dream, that either he had hit his hard too hard at some point in the cave and lost his memory, or else perhaps become delusional; or that the two kids who looked like his parents might have looked thirty years ago and who sported their names, one of which seemed to think he lived in Mikkel’s house, in addition to the old newspaper, were all bizarre coincidences. But even as he thought about the latter, he realised just how ridiculous it sounded. But surely, even that weak explanation was more feasible than the worrying thought that lingered at the back of his mind, that ludicrous notion he refused to acknowledge.

Noticing the door was still partially open, Mikkel slipped inside silently. He could hear what sounded like children’s cartoons sounding from a television set in the living room. He looked around him, gauging his surroundings: the dark entrance of his home, which didn’t look at all how he remembered it. As he approached the living room, he cast a glance at a large bookcase against the wall, behind a desk and a round dining table. An ash tray was sitting on the surface, which despite everything, struck Mikkel as particularly odd. His mother didn’t smoke (anymore), and his father was only allowed to smoke outside in the garden or out front. Certainly, no smoking was permitted inside the home. Yet Mikkel could smell the faint, lingering scent of tobacco in the air, clinging to the carpets and the curtains. A sofa was sitting opposite the TV, and curled across it Mikkel could see the outline of a woman.

‘Mama?’

The figure stirred and sat up to face him. It wasn’t his mother, but not for the first time that day did Mikkel feel a twinge of dim recognition. Purple shadows swept beneath her eyes as though she hadn’t slept for days. ‘Mads?’ she whispered when she set her weary eyes upon him.

Mads. Mads as in _Mads Nielsen_? His grandmother spoke of him a lot, especially recently, following Erik Obendorf’s disappearance. Mads had been her son, his father’s brother, and had he not vanished in 1986, he would have been Mikkel’s uncle. _Had he not vanished in 1986…_

‘Who are you?’ the woman asked him.

Mikkel disregarded her question, too eager to ask his own. ‘Where are my parents?’

The woman peered at him with wide eyes, almost analysing him. She suddenly sprung from the sofa like a cat and stood before him, kneeling as she placed her hands on his clothes and pulled at his coat, as though searching for confirmation of something, for any indication that he was Mads.

‘Who are you?’ Mikkel pleaded, his voice weak and shaky.

The woman met his eyes. ‘Do you know where he is?’ she begged, grabbing again at his coat as Mikkel inched away. ‘Do you know where Mads is?’ She kept a firm hold on his coat as he tried to tug himself from her grip. This wasn’t his mother and this wasn’t his house. He needed to get out and far away from this strange woman, now.

‘You’re hurting me!’

The struggle continued as the woman’s voice became desperate and pleading, her grip on him tighter. ‘What are you doing here? _Say something!_ ’  
Finally he freed himself from her grasp and backed away. She fell to the floor in tears, the image of a woman who was broken to the core. ‘When is he coming back?’ she wept. Mikkel almost felt sorry for her, but he did not hesitate as he turned his back on her pitiful figure and ran shaking from the house.

*

Mikkel didn’t waste any time or thoughts on the broken woman he’d left on the living room floor. Next stop: the high school. If anyone was going to put an end to this utter madness, it was his mother, the principal of Winden High School. Surely, _surely_ , she would be there, greet him with open arms, so happy to see him, tell him everything was okay, hold him in her arms like she always did when he was upset or ill or scared. And then, finally, she’d take him home, where everything would be as it should again, where he could eat and shower and lie in his own bed until a new dawn arose. And when he woke up, all this nonsense would be over, and life would go back to normal. Or, better yet, he’d wake up and this would all be an extraordinary dream, an epic tale to delight his friends with at school the next day. Mikkel briefly slid off his red coat and pinched his arm, but he did not wake up.

As he approached the school, Mikkel cast his eyes all around. All the kids were dressed, well, a bit odd, and not one person had a phone glued to their hand. And most curiously of all, the school doors were shrouded in posters that strongly resembled the missing posters that had been displayed across Winden in search of Erik Obendorf. Except the closer he got to them, he realised while they were indeed missing posters, the person that was missing wasn’t Erik. It was Mads Nielsen. Mads Nielsen, missing since October 9th 1986. Mikkel slipped through the door behind two girls, not daring to believe it.

Some older kid noticed his dishevelled appearance as he entered the school corridor; Mikkel hadn’t checked a mirror recently, but he was confident he wasn’t looking at his best right now. He could feel the slight throb of the cuts above his forehead, on his cheek and chin, and his coat was covered in dust and scuffs. His stomach growled with hunger as the youth laughed and lunged at him as if to unsettle him, and it worked, because Mikkel hurried down the rest of the hall, glancing back as he passed through the door to ensure the boy was no longer on his tail.

As he turned to face ahead of him once more, he found himself at the mercy of three teenaged girls lounging in the school hall in as equally strange get-ups as all the other kids. He recognised one of them as the blonde girl he had seen in his driveway earlier, who had come to hitch a ride to school with the gangly teenaged Ulrich who somehow now seemed to inhabit his house. _Mikkel’s house_. Or so he had thought. The other two girls were unfamiliar, although the brunette closest to him sparked some faint whisper of recognition, although he couldn’t fathom why. He was quite sure he had never seen this girl before in his life.

The three girls turned to face him, and the blonde girl from this morning spoke first. ‘What are you looking at? Weren’t you at Ulrich’s place earlier?’

‘Are you new here?’ the brunette asked him curiously.

He looked at her and shook his head. ‘I… I’m looking for my mama.’

‘This isn’t kindergarten.’ The blonde again, a slight sneer on her face as she chewed her gum. It was as though she was unable to be kind or compassionate, like for some reason she had built up walls around her that were impossible to climb unless she dropped you a ladder.

‘She’s the principal here,’ Mikkel explained.

‘Mr. Hubert?’ The other girls laughed. ‘He may be a fag, but he’s certainly not a woman.’

Mikkel glanced at the ground and then back at the bemused girls, his head spinning. This was all too much. ‘Isn’t this Winden?’

‘Aren’t you a bit young to drop acid?’ She shouldered past him and marched off, the other girls filing dutifully behind her, leaving Mikkel stood in the school corridor alone. He watched them walk away, the cuts on his face throbbing dully, although not as much as the thoughts that reeled unpleasantly through his mind, thoughts that suggested the ludicrous notion he had had earlier might not be quite so ludicrous after all.

*

Mikkel’s final stop for answers before he collapsed to the floor in an amalgamation of fear and confusion, was his father’s place of work: the police station.

He arrived at the station at just past nine thirty that morning. Somehow he managed to slip through the station and right to his papa’s office without anyone paying him the slightest bit of attention despite his dishevelled appearance. As Mikkel passed by the office window, his heart ran wild; there was a man sitting in the office. But as he walked through the open door, his heart sank once more; in his father’s place sat an older man he did not recognise. He was peering at an old device Mikkel had never seen before, tapping away at the keys, so it must have been some kind of ancient computer of sorts. The old man glanced up at him as Mikkel entered the room. ‘What are you doing here?’ he said.

‘I… I’m looking for my father.’

‘What’s his name?’ the old man asked, leaning back from the peculiar device.

Mikkel hesitated. ‘Ulrich Nielsen,’ he answered, barely able to contain the hope in his voice. This was his last chance… he didn’t know where to go or what to do after this…

He didn’t get the response he had hoped for.

The old man screwed up his face in confusion. ‘Ulrich Nielsen? _The_ Ulrich Nielsen?’

Oh no. ‘Doesn’t he work here?’

'No. And I’m certain he never will.’

The old man glanced away before laying eyes on Mikkel once more, the jaunty pop music sounding innocently from the radio in the background, the type of music you might dance or fry eggs to on a lazy Sunday morning, but certainly not when you’d just spent a terrifying night in a dark cave and woke up alone to a world that no longer recognises you.

‘Oh, so this is a joke? Was this Ulrich’s dumb idea?’

The old man wasn’t getting it. Why was no one getting it? Mikkel said nothing, but the old man got out of his chair and lifted Mikkel’s chin to get a better view of the cuts on his face. ‘Did he do this?’ he pressed. ‘Did Ulrich do this?’ All Mikkel could do was wince and shake his head. The old man sighed. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Mikkel.’

‘Last name?’

‘Nielsen.’ He hesitated for just a moment before continuing. ‘I’m Ulrich’s son.’

The old man remained unconvinced. ‘Now tell me your parents’ real names and I’ll take you home.’

Mikkel had had enough. He had reached his ultimate destination in his quest for answers, and none had come. Yet all the while, that ludicrous notion from earlier had been building like some awful crescendo, becoming more and more present in his tangled web of thoughts. He had no other choice but to ask, to ask a simple question that would either confirm or deny his suspicions. What he would do with that information, however, he did not know.

‘What’s the date?’

The man shrugged his shoulders at being asked such a silly question. ‘The fifth of November.’

The old man was going to think Mikkel must have hit his head hard and developed some kind of amnesia or mental illness at his next question, and he wasn’t entirely convinced himself that this wasn’t the case.

‘What year?’

The man shook his head in exasperation and chuckled as he replied, ‘1986.’

_1986._

‘1986’. Mikkel took a step back, trying to process the fears which had been confirmed. He watched as the old man walked to the phone and made a call, but he wasn’t really listening. How could it be 1986? How could you walk into a cave in 2019, and walk out some 33 years earlier? There was a word for that: impossible.

‘Someone will be coming to pick you up and take care of that.’ The man picked up his coat and pointed in the direction of the cuts and scrapes on his face. ‘In the meantime, I’ll take care of Ulrich. He won’t hurt you again. I promise.’

And with that, he grabbed his keys and left the office, shutting the door behind him and leaving Mikkel all alone, not for the first time that morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter was quite lengthy, but I felt like Mikkel’s initial moments in 1986 were really important in order to capture his thoughts and emotions about the whole ordeal.


	3. Caves, Crutches and Creation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikkel meets Nurse Ines, makes a break for the caves and has a very existential conversation with our favourite time-traveling drug dealer slash priest, Noah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Firstly, I just want to thank my new commenters 'Bubulona' and 'eitokus'! Your kind comments are seriously appreciated :) 
> 
> Secondly, heads up, this is a loooong chapter. The next chapter will bring more new content, with a fair bit of focus on his first ‘proper’ meeting with Hannah and what they got up to after their exchange in front of the snack machine. Also, we will see Ines take him to his new home at the Kahnwald house, and from chapter five we will start looking at entirely new content, filling the gaps between season one and two. 
> 
> See the end notes for my planned upload schedule for this series. 
> 
> Happy reading! :)

Chapter Three: Caves, Crutches and Creation

_November 5th 1986_

Not knowing what to do with himself, Mikkel sat at the office desk, stacked with folders and papers. There was an unsolved Rubik’s cube lying inconspicuously amongst the folders, and with little else to occupy him, Mikkel picked it up and began to play around with it. The only reason he was familiar with the old gadget in the first place was because Jonas had given him one offhandedly one day at the lake when he was younger. Jonas had told Mikkel that his papa had always had one or two lying around the house, always absently twisting and turning the cube with his artist’s hands until all its coloured faces fell into place. And he’d been really rather good at solving it too, according to Jonas, although for some reason he never seemed satisfied or pleased even when he did; as though somehow the cube was deceiving him, as if one of those coloured faces was still out of place but beyond his reach. Mikkel tried not to think about Jonas or his dead father as he rotated the cube between his fingers, and instead focused on solving it, to get all the pieces into place as he so desperately wanted to do with own life right now. But he couldn’t help thinking that if it hadn’t been for Jonas, he wouldn’t be sat in this ghost of his dad’s office in what was apparently the year 1986 right now. He’d be at school with his friends in 2019, where he belonged, cracking jokes and expertly avoiding Elisabeth Doppler.

Ten minutes later the cube sat completed on the old man’s desk, and with nothing else to do, Mikkel decided to use the old phone to call his mother. It just so happened that he also had an idea how to use it, ancient as it was, since his grandmother still had one just like it at home, and he’d used it to call his parents more times than he could count. Not to his surprise, the number was not in service.

Looking around the empty office, Mikkel spotted a lighter on the desk. He flicked it on and a small tongue of flame danced before he flipped the lid. It would come in useful later, when he headed back to the caves. Because somehow, all this madness had to do with those damn caves, and the only way back to 2019 was hidden in the depths, he was sure of it. But it would be no use exploring the caves if he was at the mercy of darkness, so he pocketed it.

He then turned his attention to the paper closest to him on the desk.

_Missing Person’s Report: Mads Nielsen._

Mikkel also noticed that the statement he held in his hand about his vanishing uncle was made by a fifteen-year-old Regina Tiedemann, who he was quite sure was Bartosz’s mother. Well, she _would_ be his mother. Here in 1986, Bartosz was barely more than a whisper in the wind. 

A few articles concerning Mads’ disappearance were scattered beside the report, but most interesting of all was the photo beside the newspaper cuttings. Two boys, both startlingly recognisable, as the photo was akin to the framed one his grandmother kept on her living room shelf. One was the gangly boy he had met at his doorstop this morning. The other boy Mikkel had never met, but he recognised his face from the missing posters and now, he realised, from the photo his grandmother had. Turning it over with shaking hands, the words scrawled in thick black ink on the back of the photo read: _Mads + Ulrich Nielsen._

There was a sharp knock on the door, and with no time to think Mikkel threw the photo back onto the desk and hurriedly rearranged its contents to conceal his snooping before racing to face the door **.** It swung open and a police officer gripped the handle as a woman walked into the room. She wore a crisp white uniform and a kind smile as she approached him and the officer vanished back into the hall. 

‘Hello,’ she said gently, peering down at him. ‘I’m Nurse Ines. But you can just call me Ines.’ She slowly bent down to match his height, to meet him at his level. Mikkel couldn’t help but appreciate, despite everything, her sincere attempt to make him feel more comfortable. ‘I’ll take you to the hospital now. We’ll take a look at your arm, okay? Then I’ll bring you home, safe and sound.’

She gave him a small smile and offered him her hand. Mikkel glanced down at it, unsure. He highly doubted, in spite of her warm assurances, that she could ever bring him home safe and sound. But what were his options, really? He had nowhere else to go, nobody even knew who he was as he shouldn’t even exist for another 22 years. As he looked back up into Nurse Ines’ kind eyes, he decided: he would go to the hospital, get some much needed food and rest, and then at the first opportunity he would make a run for the caves. And maybe, just maybe, by some miracle, he would make it back to 2019, where his worried family and friends would welcome him with open arms, and he could still impress his friends with his fascinating time travel adventure that no one would ever believe, and Elisabeth Doppler would think him a bigger show-off than ever before.

Mikkel took the nurse’s extended hand.

*

That afternoon, the hospital sent a doctor to check him over to ensure everything was in working order, Nurse Ines hovering by the door, insisting gently that everything would be okay. Mikkel said nothing the whole time, eyes glued to the floor even as she placed a warm hand to his cheek and told him not to cry.

As the hours crept by, Mikkel took a hot shower and changed into some fresh pyjamas that Nurse Ines had brought him earlier. His cuts had been cleaned and now he sat on his hospital bed, toying indifferently with the unappetising food on his plate, a sloppy assortment of bland chicken, lumpy mashed potatoes and pale green peas swimming in some sort of watery gravy. While he had been ravenous this morning, his stomach now balked at the sight of the food on his plate, and not only because it looked distinctly unappealing. This morning, he’d wanted nothing more than a meal and a warm bed to sleep in; now he had both, yet he didn’t want either. What he wanted was for his mama, his papa, or even an irritable Magnus to waltz through that door, clap him over the head and drag him straight back home.

*

The sun began to set beyond his hospital room window as Nurse Ines returned to bandage his hand.

‘Wont you tell me your name and where you live?’ she asked as she gently wound the gauze above his wrist. _No,_ Mikkel thought but did not speak.

‘Don’t you want to go home?’ she prodded. _Yes. So very much._

When still he didn’t reply, she glanced at the floor, carefully choosing her next words. ‘If something happened at home… you can stay here for now. If you want to talk, I’m here.’ She took his hands in hers. ‘I’m on the night shift too.’

Mikkel almost felt bad for rebutting her kindness with silence, but what could he say? And whatever he did say might just allow the tears he was so diligently repressing to freefall to no end. So he continued to stare unanswerably at a spot of wall just above the curtains.

She shoved the wheels of her chair back to reach for the stack of comics she had brought along with her. ‘Here, something to read.’ She placed them at his side and moved to the door. Mikkel barely glanced at them before he opened his mouth to speak, the words tumbling from his lips before he could stop himself.

‘I come from the future.’

He could hear the sound of her footsteps pause by the door behind him, as he marvelled at his own bravery for admitting the impossible truth while simultaneously reproaching himself for thinking anyone would believe it.

‘What did you say?’ she asked, her words a worried whisper that hung in the air between them.

He turned to face her then, no longer thinking nor caring about the consequences of his words. ‘I come from the future,’ he repeated, willing her to believe him, daring to hope she might.

But instead she just looked at him sadly, sympathetically, as though he were an abandoned dog on a rain-washed street corner in winter. She took a step toward him, then seemed to catch herself. She straightened before saying, not unkindly, ‘get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.’ And then she headed for the door and disappeared through it, taking any hope of a confidant with her.

*

Later that evening, Mikkel slipped under the covers of his hospital bed, his mind and will focused only on one goal: to make a break for it, tonight, under the cover of darkness. To make a break for the forest, to locate the sinister beast that was Winden Caves, and find that tunnel, that crossing, between here and home, between time.

Mikkel glanced at the small pile of comics left unobserved on his bedside table. Picking up the topmost copy, he recoiled inwardly at the title branded in huge red letters on the cover: _Captain Future._

 _Of course_ , Mikkel thought. That explained the tragic look Nurse Ines had afforded him earlier. She must've thought he was just being an over-imaginative little kid, making up wild stories to soothe his aching trauma. He already knew this, of course, had known she would never believe him. Who would? But some small part of him had hoped, what with her kind eyes and tentative smile, that she might’ve considered him, or even asked him to explain, to talk about it. He flicked through the slick, colourful pages, and with nothing else to divert his jumbled thoughts until night fell absolutely and the halls outside quieted, he forced his worries to the back of his mind, just for a few moments, as he lost himself in _Captain Future_ ’s adventures. And maybe, if his own mission was successful, when he got back home he could be his own Captain Future, a master of illusion and time.

Thirty minutes later, eyes heavy as the fringes of sleep grazed his mind, Mikkel heard a slight commotion out in the hall. The room flickered in darkness, and for a second he thought the shadow that swallowed the room was merely sleep coming to claim him. But as he sat up and his head cleared, he realised that the lights were blinking on and off and the cacophony of voices was steadily building outside. The familiar flashing and flickering tugged at his memories of the night before, the flashlights wavering and sputtering as the cave roared.

Now was as good a time as any to make his escape.

Tossing the comic on the bedside table and whipping back his bed covers, he tiptoed to the door and pushed it open lightly, slipping his head through the crack to observe the flurry of activity in the halls. Confident that everyone was far too distracted to notice him, he withdrew and felt for the familiar shape of the cigarette lighter in his pyjama pants pocket, then ran to the nearest window, tossing back the curtains and climbing on to the chair beneath it. He jumped from the ledge with one swift leap, and he was off, head and heart pounding as he ran like never before, certain he could hear the ghostly whisper of his name slipping from the cave and hanging like a secret in the cold night air as he gasped for breath. He ran and ran, cursing his too-short legs, determined to put as much distance between himself and the hospital as he could, the dark edges of the forest in sight.

When he finally reached the grapple of of the dusk-filled forest, he didn’t stop: he kept running, glancing back now and then to ensure that no one was following him, that no arms were outstretched and waiting to snatch him up and bring him back to the hospital. He _had_ to get home. There was no other option. As the mouth of the cave emerged before him, he paused at its entrance, out of breath and slick with sweat as he rallied himself for what he was about to do. He glimpsed behind him one more time: _I’m not a little baby, I can do this,_ he thought to himself, as he turned back toward the looming darkness and flicked on the lighter, letting the warm golden flame lead the way into the menacing shadows beyond.

Ice rippled through the darkness that hung in the air like a threat, cooling the fire in his veins and the sweat on his skin as he whirled in every direction. The flicker of the flame left silhouettes that rippled and danced on the rough cave walls, like ghosts that taunted and urged him onwards into the black heart of this stony labyrinth, lost forever amongst the shadows and rocks. Yet if he didn’t keep going, he would be lost forever in time instead, and he wasn’t sure which was worse. He ignored every instinct that screamed for his attention, telling him to turn around and run back to the hospital, and stumbled onwards into the murky depths.

After some time, his breathing slowed and his instincts urged him forwards rather than back, newly determined to find that door in the caves, which he was certain was the crossing between the past and the present. Yet just as his confidence grew, on his next step his foot did not meet solid ground, and instead he plummeted _through_ it, sliding down a crumbling wall of stone, its rocky crevices digging into him like knives as he tumbled further and further. His descent came to a sudden halt as his leg snagged on a jutting rock and he felt the sharp crack of a broken bone. He threw back his head and groaned in agony before surveying the damage: his leg was a bloody mess. The flame of his lighter still flickered beyond his reach.

As he sat hopelessly on the ground with only rock and shadow for company, he thought he heard a dull bang somewhere beyond, as though someone was trying to break through a door…

‘Hallo?’

It couldn’t be.

 _‘Hallo!’_ Louder this time, desperate. Hopeful.

Still no responding call. Could it really be that someone had found the door, that someone was looking for him? Perhaps Jonas had come back for him? Or maybe his papa?

‘Help! Help!’

But whoever it was, he didn’t hear them again. Only overwhelming silence answered his pleas for help. So he sat there for some time, alone, the throb of his leg reminding him that this was reality, could never be just a bad dream.

After some time and with great effort, he picked himself up off the ground and made a grab for the lighter, determined to find the source of the noise. But hours passed and when he eventually caught sight of the stars in the sky through the mouth of the cave, he had no choice but to stagger through it, sitting on a rock jutting at its lip. He held back tears as the emotional and physical pain hit him like a wave: he was bruised and beaten and broken, but the break in his bone could never match the break in his heart. The stars winked innocently above him like diamonds dipped in midnight ink, callously indifferent to his pain as picked himself up once more and staggered back through the forest, the prospect of the days ahead far more terrifying than the dark woods before him or the caves he left behind.

*

_November 6th, 1986_

The sun was beginning its ascent by the time he made it back to the hospital, the sky a muted rose gold in the dawn as he climbed back through the open hospital window and collapsed onto the waiting bed. Mikkel remarked sullenly at the mirthless déjà vu; this morning was just a repeat of the last, with his emerging from the caves and stumbling along through lonely forests and empty streets.

 _Why me?_ , Mikkel thought despite himself. _What did I do to deserve this?_

He spent the rest of the early morning hours tormented with similarly hopeless thoughts, the once repressed tears now falling freely down his face until there were none left and Nurse Ines peered through the door, smothering him in a warm hug but asking no questions, knowing they would be met only with silence and tears.

*

_November 7th, 1986_

The previous morning, his broken leg had been treated and put in a cast, and he was given crutches to walk with, which were more trouble than they were worth, so Mikkel spent most of the day in bed. Ines had managed to discourage any more officers or doctors asking too many questions about his failed escape last night, to Mikkel's great relief and appreciation. He watched the sun make its descent beneath the trees, painting the tips of their leaves and branches in bronze and gold. He was so bone-tired, he couldn't even muster the energy to turn the cogs in his head, to assess his situation and attempt to conjure up another plan of action, another way to get home. Deep down, he knew it was all futile, and when the sun's glow had completely vanished behind the forest, he put head to pillow and slept for fourteen hours straight. 

Now, he sat picking at his breakfast, when Nurse Ines slipped into the room, a wrapped gift in her hands. Mikkel sat on the edge of the bed, lost in the anguish of his own thoughts and staring into space. It was all he could do not to scream or vomit or both. He was trapped, trapped in time, and he had no idea how to get out.

Nurse Ines presented him the neatly wrapped gift. ‘This is for you’, she said softly.

Mikkel said nothing, afraid of the tears or screams that might betray him if he did. She sat beside him on the bed and cast him a glance. ‘Don’t you finally want to talk to me?’ she urged. Mikkel fixed his eyes on the floor in response. ‘Is there maybe someone I should tell that you’re okay? You’re parents, they… they must be worried.’

His parents. Had he heard one of them in the cave that night? Or was he kidding himself? Surely they were worried about him, looking for him, but with what success? How would they find him, when surely they searched fruitlessly through streets and fields and woods? Who would ever think to find him 33 years in the past?

‘You don’t have to say what happened to you if you don’t want to, but… if you want, no matter what it is, you can tell me. It’s safe with me. I promise.’

But Mikkel said nothing, and Nurse Ines pressed the gift into his lap before leaving the room, throwing him a worried glance at the door that Mikkel could not see but felt, burning a hole in the back of his head as she turned and left the room.

*

When Nurse Ines arrived a few hours later with lunch, she told him to expect a visit from the local priest that afternoon. Apparently, she had asked him to speak with Mikkel in an effort to bring him some much needed comfort.

‘I don’t know if you believe in God,’ she had said, ‘but in times of grief we must find comfort where we can. I hope you don’t mind.’

Mikkel felt too tired and empty to tell her that no, he didn’t believe in God at all, that it would likely bring him no comfort whatsoever, so instead merely nodded his head in acknowledgment. Even if he _had_ had the energy to oppose the visit, he knew he wouldn’t have. Despite everything, Mikkel rather liked Nurse Ines. There was a warmness and motherly nature about her that, in spite of his frequent silence, he found soothing and reassuring. He wouldn’t have wanted to see the disappointment on her face if he refused.

So that afternoon, shortly after lunch, it was no surprise when a priest clad in his holy garb slipped into the room and took a seat beside the bed. He wore a hat and what Mikkel could only assume was a bible was clasped in his solid hands. He withdrew the hat and placed it on the beside table before introducing himself.

‘I’m Noah,’ he said. ‘I’m a priest at St. Christopher’s Church. Ines called me.’

Mikkel only stared at the _Captain Future_ comic still clutched in his hands, his only escape from his thoughts and the past that was now his present.

‘Do you believe in God?’, the priest asked him calmly.

Mikkel glanced at him and shook his head.

‘How do you believe the world came to be? Who created all the beautiful things?’

Mikkel looked at the strange man again, glad to think about anything besides the bruises those caves had left on his body and mind. ‘The world came to be through the Big Bang. Thirteen point eight billion years ago. That’s how space, time and matter came to be, and Earth as well. The rest is evolution.’ This from his father, and his mother before him, who had given up on God the day Mads disappeared.

‘And what was there before the Big Bang?’ the priest asked more coolly still, seemingly unphased by Mikkel’s refute of his craft, his faith. Mikkel didn’t have an answer to this question, and he loathed the fact. He was tired of questions he could not answer. ‘Nothing can arise from nothing,’ the man continued. ‘Maybe the Big Bang is nothing more than God’s act of creation.’

Mikkel’s head ached as he sought to defend his claim. ‘My father says religion is the brainwashing of the masses.’ His heart ached more than his head at the mention of his father, but the priest just nodded his head imperceptibly.

‘I’m sure your father knows a lot,’ he countered, ‘but he doesn’t know everything. It’s good that he raised you to question things. But every now and then, it’s good to question those who question things.’ He smirked knowingly at this, as though the secrets of the universe were whispered in his ear alone.

‘God has a plan for every human being. Including you.’

And with that, the man took his hat from the bedside table and placed it slickly on his head, the shabby book still clasped firmly in his large hands as he offered Mikkel a polite nod and drifted from the room like a shadow, leaving Mikkel’s head reeling with so many questions he thought it might just explode. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I probably chose to write this fanfic at a bad time: I’ve been furloughed from work for four months thanks to the pandemic, with endless free time, but for some reason the proclivity to write this fic didn’t call to me until a week or two ago, except now I’m back at work and will be starting up with my university studies again soon. So, uploads might be less frequent than I would have liked, but the plan as of now is to upload a new chapter every Wednesday and Sunday from chapter five onwards. Chapter four will likely be up before Wednesday, though.  
> Thanks for reading :)
> 
> \- Bethanie


	4. The Boy from the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikkel has a heartfelt conversation with Ines when she reveals secrets of her own to him, and later forms a bond with a girl in a bad mood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I lied. I had to split this chapter into two separate chapters because I got carried away here. 
> 
> This chapter adds a lot of depth and backstory to Ines, and we see her relationship with Mikkel really shift into something more tangible and meaningful.
> 
> Also, another important woman in Mikkel's life makes an appearance in her fourteen-year-old form. This chapter is really about Mikkel forming those bonds and relationships, and I really enjoyed writing this.

_November 7 th 1986_

Not ten minutes after the priest left, Nurse Ines returned, two ice cream sodas complete with striped red and white straws clasped in her hands.

‘Don’t tell anyone about this,’ she said, smiling mischievously as she handed a glass to Mikkel and sat on the chair at his bedside. ‘None of the other patients are getting this kind of special treatment. I had to sneak them from the kitchens during afternoon shift turnover.’ There was a glint in her eye, and Mikkel smiled, just slightly, for the first time since he’d entered those caves on that November night.

‘Thank you,’ Mikkel said honestly. Despite her efforts and the kindness she’d shown, he had barely spoken to Nurse Ines since he’d arrived at the hospital, and the effort of denying her his gratitude by remaining silent was wearing thin. Mikkel still hadn’t decided what his next move would be, what piece on the chessboard he might use, if he had any left at his disposal at all. Since the night he’d returned to the cave and broken his leg, his body and mind had felt too tired and drained to do or think much at all. Until now, that was, after his contemplative discussion with the priest. And while he still wasn’t sure what to think or feel or do next, more immediate worries were beginning to press on his mind, enough so that he couldn’t resist the temptation to query Nurse Ines on those fears.

‘What will happen to me?’ he asked her after he took a sip from his straw. ‘I can’t stay here. In the hospital.’

‘No, you can’t,’ she admitted, the glint in her eyes replaced with a hint of sadness. ‘Arrangements… are being made. We will make sure you’re well cared for, though, you don’t need to worry. I will personally make sure of it. I’m no Houdini, but I’ll do everything I can.’

Mikkel had briefly mentioned Houdini and his love of magic yesterday, when Nurse Ines had coaxed it out of him after she brought him dinner. She’d asked if he would like any toys or books or gadgets to keep him entertained during the day, and Mikkel had declined, but instead asked for two plastic cups and some kind of counter or game piece to practice his tricks.

‘But,’ she continued, ‘a hospital isn’t a home for children… and if you can’t tell us who your parents or family are, or what happened to you, we have to make preparations to keep you safe and looked after in the meantime.’

Mikkel didn’t say anything. Was he going to be sent to a children’s home? He suddenly felt sick, and put the half-full soda glass on his bedside table.

‘How was your chat with St Christopher’s priest?’ she asked as she glanced at the abandoned glass.

Mikkel thought about his answer. ‘He didn’t exactly make me feel comfortable,’ he said a few moments later.

Nurse Ines looked at him and smiled knowingly. ‘He does have that effect on people, I must admit. I thought he might try and be a little less… formidable with you.’

Mikkel went back to being silent, still feeling uneasy at the prospect of spending the rest of his childhood in a children’s home.

Nurse Ines shuffled her chair closer to his bedside and said, ‘did he ask you anything about your family, or what happened to you?’

Mikkel was tired of being asked this, almost resented it, now. He looked out of the window and left her question lingering uncomfortably between them.

The nurse sighed. ‘I know how alone you must be feeling right now,’ she said softly, ‘because… I’ve felt it, too. Alone.’

Mikkel pulled his eyes from the window and peered at her curiously from where he sat on the bed. She seemed to be readying herself for something as she took another deep breath and glanced at the floor. Not lifting her eyes to meet his, she continued, ‘my mother was my best friend, you know, when I was your age. She devoted her life to me, enough so that I believe my father resented it at times, the closeness she and I shared, the time she spent with me.’

Finally, she met his gaze once more, and Mikkel was alarmed to see the pain and grief she concealed beneath a weak smile, and the faint glimmer of tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. She blinked a few times as if to banish them, and boldly resumed her story. ‘But when I was thirteen, my mother fell seriously ill, and she passed away one night in her sleep. Safe and warm in her bed, but I always missed her terribly. I still do, even now, at an age older than she was when she passed. And my father… he was the chief of police here in Winden, you know, back in the fifties. He was a commanding man, but a good father, even though he scared me at times when I was a little girl… he died twenty-two years ago, when I was a young woman. Much older than yourself, but still naïve, still unsure of who I was or what I wanted to make of my life. I was my parents’ only child, so I had no brothers or sisters to share my grief with. And then, twelve years ago, I met a man and I fell in love. The kind of love I had only read about in books… or so I’d thought. I fell pregnant with his child before he proposed to marry me. I was so sure he’d be pleased when I told him, offer to marry me right there and then, and I would have a family of my own again.’

She smiled wanly, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes, still wet but with no betrayal of tears. She sighed before resuming her story.

‘But instead, he ran and never looked back. He left Winden, but I don’t know where he went after that, and I never tried to find out. I was excited to be a mother, was prepared for it to be just me and my son. I built him a nursery in the spare room, and I brought him home that night. I wanted to hold him in my arms all night, but eventually I forced myself to put him to sleep in his cot and went to bed. And the next morning, I thought how strange it was that my alarm clock had awoken me, and not the sound of his cries. And when I went to check on him, there he was, still in his cot. Passed in his sleep, just like my mother. It’s something we call ‘sudden infant death syndrome’, and there was nothing to be done about it, nothing I could have done to prevent it, but still, nothing could have prepared me for it. After that, I gave up on having a family of my own and decided to become a nurse, so I could help others like perhaps I couldn’t help myself. And I found happiness in my job, in helping others heal. I am blessed with good health and a nice home, and I have many good friends here in the hospital, both patients and staff. But I know what it means to feel alone. So… I won’t ask you again to tell me what happened to you, unless you want to, of course. But just know, you’re not alone. There are people who care about you, don’t doubt it. _I_ care about you.

Mikkel sat frozen, barely daring to breathe as he looked at the woman before him, as broken as the woman who had crumpled to the floor in anguish two days ago, who he later realised must have been his grandmother in her middle years. But the woman who sat beside him had lived with her own grief for many years now, and try as she might to appear calm and composed as she peered nervously back at him, awaiting his response, he could see now the pain etched in the shape and lines of her face and the sorrow in the shine of her eyes, where still the tears refused to fall.

How little he had been touched by death himself, Mikkel thought. Other than Jonas’ father, who he had barely spoken to, and the presumed death of the uncle he never knew, Mikkel had always been surrounded by a family who loved him, who were alive and healthy and chaotic, and despite the bickering and occasional arguing, had always been happy. How lucky he had been to have that, how ungrateful he had been to not see the value in it until he had lost it. And perhaps, he wondered bleakly, how self-indulgent he had been in his own anguish to not consider if anyone else might be struggling, if the nurse who seemed to spend her life inside the walls of this hospital had her own family, her own harrowing stories to tell.

Despite the sadness he felt in his heart for the woman who now smiled warmly at him through unyielding tears, he simply said, ‘what was your son’s name?’

But she didn’t seem offended or upset at his response, instead she grinned as she said, ‘Daniel. His name was Daniel, after my late father.’

Mikkel nodded softly without realising he was doing so, trying not to let tears well in his own eyes, to become a siphon for her sadness. He thought about his conversation with the unsettling priest earlier, and how he had said God had a plan for everyone. If that was so, why was the plan he laid out for some so cruel and underserving? Why was his plan for Nurse Ines to live a life of loss and loneliness, and his plan for his own life to send him thirty-three years out of reach of his family, his home? Surely, no God could be so callous and unkind. Nurse Ines’ gentle voice stirred him away from his thoughts and back into the room.

‘I would like to think, if my son, if Daniel… if he had had a chance to live, to grow up, he would have been just like you. Kind, smart… perhaps a little rebellious at times.’ She raised an eyebrow and threw him a knowing look, a silent reference to his failed escape almost two nights ago. Despite himself, he grinned sheepishly at her, and she beamed back at him, a smile so kind and maternal Mikkel almost had to stop himself from climbing off the bed and smothering her in a hug.

‘He would have been around your age now,’ she went on. ‘Perhaps if fate had been kinder, and he was here with us now, the two of you might’ve been friends.’

Mikkel blanched inwardly. If fate had been kinder to both himself and Daniel, then they certainly would never have been friends, but everyone would have been much better off for it.

‘I think Daniel would have… would have loved you very much. He would’ve been very lucky, to have you for a mama.’ And he meant it.

Nurse Ines leaned over and took his small hands in hers in appreciation. Her eyes flickered to the bright afternoon sun that watched them silently through the window and above the forest beyond, and Mikkel could almost see the poignant thoughts that sullied her mind.

‘I can’t tell you the amount of times I wished I could go back in time,’ she said so softly it was almost a whisper, still gazing at the sky through the window, ‘to go back and hold him in my arms all night, even though there was nothing I could have done to stop it, to keep him with me. But it’s human nature to want, to hope that you might change things, change the course of time…. but the past is the past, and now is now. And,’ she looked at him now, eyes alight with renewed strength, ‘whatever happened to you, or however lonely you might feel, just know that you’re not alone. I want you to feel like you can talk to me, whenever you need to. I want to be your friend, if only you’ll let me.’

Mikkel nodded gratefully and, glad to feel something again, to feel emotion, no matter how sad or bitter, he removed his hands from her warm grip and wrapped her in a hug. He could feel her body beneath him deflate in relief as she hugged him tightly. And when he pulled back, she was wiping at her eyes, trying to hide any tears as she stood and then busied herself with fixing her hat and smoothing her crisp white dress.

‘That’s enough melancholy for today, I think. Now, why don’t you take my gift you’ve neglected to unwrap, and get some fresh air outside. I need to see to another patient, but I’ll come and join you on my break in thirty minutes. And you can tell me all about this magician, Hordini.’

‘ _Hou_ dini,’ Mikkel reproached with a slight grin, wiping at his own tears. He was forcibly reminded of the way his mother would mispronounce his idol’s name and the similar manner in which he would scold her for such a crime, and the tears threatened to fall once more.

As Ines turned to leave, he blurted, ‘thank you for… for telling me about Daniel. And thank you for the ice cream soda,’ he added as an afterthought when he noticed the sorry, melted contents of the glass beside him, ‘I’m sorry I didn’t finish it.’

She paused by the door and offered him a sly grin. ‘I’ll sneak you in another one tonight, but-‘, and she placed a finger to her lips as if to say ‘don’t tell’.

He copied something he had seen her do on more than one occasion, and mimed zipping up his lips before pocketing the secret in his pyjama pants pocket, and she chuckled as she left the room, secrets far greater than covert glasses of ice cream soda weighing heavy in his pocket as the door closed behind her.

*

A light, cold breeze swayed the branches of the trees ten minutes later, where he sat on a bench in the hospital courtyard in his pyjamas and an old coat Ines had given him on Tuesday, never thinking to ask where she might have got it or who it may have once belonged to. The still-wrapped gift was prised in his hands. It didn’t feel right to think of her as _Nurse Ines_ anymore, not after she had shared so much with him, and he so little with her. To Mikkel, now, she was simply _Ines_ , a friend. His _only_ friend, in this strange new world.

He sat for a few minutes, savouring the breeze on his skin as it whipped lightly at his cheeks and through his hair. And when he could no longer stand the anticipation, he carefully unwrapped the gift, tearing back the bright, patterned yellow paper to reveal a book. It was a hardcover, firm in his hands, and in big blue letters across a white background read the words _‘I Am Not Afraid’_. And below that, the front cover displayed an illustration of what seemed to be a large white moon that glowed like the sun, peering anxiously behind a snow-capped mountain surrounded by fir trees. A girl in a red shirt with hair as white as the moon looked curiously up at the mountain before her.

Just as he turned the book over to read the blurb on the back, a small shadow crossed his path and someone sat on the bench beside his, right at the end that would seat them closest to him. He looked up warily, and found a girl sitting adjacent to him, with long brown hair tied back in a ponytail and wearing a beige jacket and boots. He felt a stab of familiarity, but she determinedly avoided his glance, so he looked back down at his book and ignored her.

Seconds later, she looked at him and said bluntly, ‘do you think I’m pretty?’

Mikkel looked back up at the strange girl again, thrown by such a forward question. As he met her eyes, he realised where he recognised her from: the morning he’d crawled and climbed out of the caves and nothing had ever been the same. She was one of her friends, the blonde girl’s friend, Katharina… he hadn’t dared acknowledge the truth of who that blonde girl was yet, even though it had stared him in the face that morning and told him he was too young to drop acid.

Mikkel let his eyes scan her from head to boot-covered toe, but the truth was, he didn’t know nor care whether she was pretty, and he didn’t understand why she wanted _his_ opinion on that particular subject, either. She appeared perhaps a little older than him, and of course, she wasn’t ugly, certainly by no means _terrible_ to look at… but beyond that, the whole situation was as awkward as listening to Felix’s revelation about Elisabeth Doppler. So when his eyes reached the boots on her feet, he said nothing.

The girl scowled and leaned back on the bench, clearly not pleased by his silence. ‘Well, great,’ she muttered to herself as she stared straight ahead, seemingly deep in thought. Mikkel thought she looked to be in a bad mood, and he was just debating whether to head back to his room and inspect his new book further there when she continued. ‘Know what I sometimes imagine?’ she asked, attention focused on something on the ground beside their feet. Mikkel looked up at her again despite himself. ‘That I can do magic… I imagine that I want something. Really badly. And then it happens, because I imagine it.’ She pointed at something on the floor. ‘Like moving that bottle cap.’

Mikkel shifted to peer at the ground by his shoe, and there it was, a stray bronze bottle cap lying innocuously between their feet. He turned back toward the strange girl, a spark of excitement at the turn of conversation.

‘Do you know Houdini?’ he asked, but the girl just furrowed her brows and said ‘who?’

‘Harry Houdini, one of the world’s greatest magicians.’

The girl shook her head in confusion, so Mikkel placed the book beside him on the bench and leaned over to grab the bottle cap. It was cool between his fingers as he pressed it into his bandaged palm. ‘There’s no such thing as magic, just illusion. Things only change when we change them.’ He laid both palms out flat before him, so she could see the cap clearly as it rested atop the gauze wrapped around his hand, see clearly that his other palm was bare of both bandage and bottle cap. Then he closed his fists around both palms, concealing them from view. ‘But you have to do it skilfully, in secret. Then it seems like magic.’ He slid both fists to the side, across each other, then pulled them back before bringing them together to meet with a soft bump. Slick and quick, over in a matter of seconds, he pulled his fists apart and unravelled his fingers, revealing his palms once more. First, the bandaged hand, which was now bare of anything but the dressing that covered it; and then the other hand, where the bottle cap now sat, this time its sharp, curved edges facing upward to meet the sky.

The girl stared down at his open palms, and Mikkel couldn’t help but feel a twinge of satisfaction as he registered the awe on her face.

‘Where did you learn that?’ she pressed.

‘I’m from the future,’ he stated candidly, tired of secrets after listening to Ines confess so many of her own. He knew she wouldn’t believe it, presume it was a joke, and sure enough she grinned and simply said, ‘you’re cool.’

Mikkel shook his head and said easily, ‘no, I’m Mikkel.’ It was a smooth response, effortless, a spark of his old self ignited by the chance to show off his skills in illusion; the confident, charismatic boy he’d been just days ago, before the caves had swallowed him up and spat him back out in 1986.

The girl smirked at him, impressed, and leaned forward, extending her hand. ‘Hi, Mikkel, boy from the future. I’m Hannah.’ And Mikkel took her hand in his, cold and small as his own, and shook it, briefly mirroring her smile. He wasn’t sure what this meant, whether that shake of the hands had created a bond between them, didn’t dare believe he might have made his second friend of the day, even if she _was_ a girl. He looked down at the floor, that spark of his old confidence already evaporating as quickly as it had come.

‘What’s the book about, anyway?’ the girl asked, leaning over him to catch a glimpse of the hardback that lay forgotten beside him. But just as he was about to pick it up and show it to her, feeling slightly flustered that she might find it childish, the shadow of another figure swept toward them, and Mikkel looked up to find Ines approaching, eyes narrowed slightly as she observed Hannah beside him.

‘Hannah, what are you doing here?’ Ines queried discerningly, pausing in front of them. ‘Is your father working the linens?’

Hannah peered shrewdly up at Ines, seemingly equally unimpressed by her presence. ‘Hello, Ms Kahnwald,’ she said with a politeness that didn’t quite meet her eyes. ‘He is, but he should be finishing up any minute now. He won’t let me walk home from school alone anymore, not since Mads…’.

Ines shuffled on her feet. ‘Of course,’ she said, her expression softening. ‘Well, why don’t I come back later then, leave you two to it…’.

‘That’s okay, my papa’s here now, anyway,’ Hannah declared, jumping up from the bench and stuffing her hands in her coat pockets as a middle-aged man exited the hospital doors and beckoned her over. She took a few steps then turned to face Mikkel. ‘Well, see you around then, boy from the future,’ she said with a wicked grin, and Mikkel watched her as she walked away and climbed into her father’s van, long brown ponytail gleaming gold in the glow of the afternoon sun.

Ines now sat beside him, a lit cigarette poised between her fingers, and Mikkel dragged his eyes back to the book beside him as he thanked her for the gift, picking it up and tracing a hand across the smooth cover. Ines put the cigarette to her lips, breathed deeply and then exhaled, watching the textile van with Hannah inside reverse and drive away, disappearing from sight beyond the clouds of twisting, swirling smoke that now hung in the air between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was quite a heavy one, but I really wanted to explore the switch point in Mikkel and Ines' relationship, where it shifted from something more than just a patient-nurse relationship, into something more like a mother-son relationship, into a friendship. 
> 
> And Hannah is going to be a very fun character to write, I just know it. ;)


	5. To Become Another Man, Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikkel spends an afternoon with Hannah, steals a picture, ponders paradoxes, and has a penchant for lime jelly (that’s gelatine for the Americans reading this by the way, to avoid any confusion! I’m British, so gelatine = jelly and jelly = jam over here!). Oh, and Mikkel begins his new life as a Kahnwald.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to note, the title of this chapter references the lyrics of ‘A Quiet Life’ that play during the scene where Ines brings Mikkel to the Kahnwald house. I thought they were rather fitting :)
> 
> THANK YOU to 'Bubulona' and 'badlyinjured' for leaving me some lovely comments on the last chapter, and thank you to everyone who dropped me some kudos ❤️️
> 
> So, another looong chapter, I’m sorry. I will be cutting them down a little after this one, I think (not massively, but just to a more palatable length to dip into, I guess), I just had a lot I needed to cover in this chapter to round off season one. After the events of season three, where to be honest we only saw our Mikkel in one scene anyway, I’ll be speeding up the pace a bit so we can begin to follow a teenaged Mikkel. We will be looking into what he gets up to between seasons one and two in the next few chapters, so off we go!

Chapter 5: To Become Another Man, Again

_November 7 th 1986_

The sun was fading behind the trees by the time Mikkel made it back inside for dinner. The hospital and his bed were beginning to feel like a prison, yet somehow, he knew he’d be begging to for the dreary walls of his hospital room one day soon. Too soon. When they took him away to the children’s home and sealed his fate and stole his family from him for good. So he’d spent the rest of the afternoon on that bench. He’d asked Ines how she had known Hannah, who’d explained that she knew her through her father’s business with the hospital, and that she had known him for a long time, that they had gone to school together, were still on good terms. 

And then Ines’ had had to go back to work, so Mikkel had read his book beneath the sloping sun: a strange little fairy tale about a young girl trapped in eternal winter, whose family had been stolen away under a towering mountain, guarded by goblins and trolls and a fire-breathing dragon that would scorch the hair off your head and singe the lashes from your lids should you climb the snow-flecked peak to the mountain’s entrance. The girl was unafraid of the mythical creatures who stood in her way, however, and while at first it seemed she might willingly die to save her family, in the end she made friends with the dragon, who was in fact as enslaved by the goblins and trolls to encircle the monstrous mountain as her family were enslaved to perish inside its crumbling walls. The dragon flew her right to the top and sailed her through its entrance, breathing a blazing inferno, dissolving the ropes that bound her family to dust and setting fire to the goblins and trolls until they were little more than ash amongst bones. Then he flew the girl and her family from the tongues of flames that threatened to engulf them too, up and out and over the mountain, melting the endless snow of its peaks with its fiery lungs and bringing wildflowers and sun and spring to all the land once more. Mikkel wondered about the significance of the story, why Ines’ might have chosen to give it to him.

But as the ghost of an imminent dusk emerged and the dust of phantom stars cut through the blushing horizon, Ines’ had beckoned him inside with the promise of dinner, and despite the lingering nausea that had begun to fester at the thought of his looming fate, he took hold of his crutches and limped back through the waiting doors.

After barely making a dent in his dinner but devouring another secret ice cream soda that night, Mikkel pulled out a pencil from his bedside drawer and scribbled something inside his newly-beloved book: _this book belongs to Mikkel._ And later, Mikkel listened to the sound of Ines’ soothing voice as she read the fairy tale to him once more, as he surrendered to sleep and dreams of a fire-breathing dragon that flew him to the deadly caves of a forest, the spark of its flame leading him through the labyrinth within to a hidden door at its heart, unleashing an inferno so powerful it melted the door like snow and revealed an endless tunnel, where the arms of his mother waited outstretched for him at the other end…

*

_November 9 th 1986_

It had been four days since Mikkel had seen his mother, his father or either of his siblings. He was beginning to feel angry at himself for not knowing what to do next, for allowing himself to just sit in this bed day after day.

But having Ines as a friend had softened the hollowness of his heart. She’d brought him along a pawn from a chess set and two plastic cups from the kitchen to play around with yesterday, and he’d spent the day forcing the pawn from one cup to the other, lifting their rims each time to reveal it sitting innocently beneath the opposing cup to which it had started: he wished it were as easy for himself to shift between time as it was for the pawn to shift between the two plastic cups.

Now she sat beside him after bringing him a bowl of wobbly lime jelly from the kitchens. It was the first decent thing he’d had in days and the first time he’d cleared his plate.

‘Any plans for today?’ she asked, as she spooned some jelly from the bottom of her own bowl.

Mikkel shook his head. What was there to do?

‘I know it must be boring for you, cooped up in here day after day. Well, it wont be for much longer. Someone will becoming to visit you in a few days, to see about… about… well, about getting you out of here.’ Mikkel thought she might not have had it in her heart to say the words ‘children’s home.’

But Mikkel just nodded miserably and finished off his own bowl. ‘I think I’ll go and sit outside for a bit,’ he said after a while.

‘That sounds like I good idea,’ Ines agreed with an encouraging smile.

He put his empty bowl to the side as he hitched himself up from beneath the covers. ‘I could eat a million bowls of that jelly,’ he said as he pulled on his coat.

*

So five minutes later he found himself back on his usual bench, watching the staff and patients of the hospital pass by, the nurses in their coats pushing patients about the grounds in wheelchairs or else grouped in corners, smoking cigarettes and deep in conversation with their co-workers.

But as he sat and watched the world go by, Mikkel could have sworn he caught sight of something markedly familiar behind a parked ambulance at the corner of his eye. Something so familiar because it had been imprinted on his mind since the day he had walked out of those caves. Something like a slip of yellow… -

-‘Look! I managed to find another one!’ Ines abruptly called across the grounds, snapping him back to reality as she walked towards him. And sure enough, when she met him at the benches, there it was, a bowl containing a tower of quivering green jelly and a spoon.

Ines pressed a coin into his palm when he’d finished, telling him to get himself anything he wanted from the snack machine before she threw her cigarette to the floor and disappeared back inside to resume her shift.

Mikkel peered around the side of the ambulance on his way back, just to see, just to make sure… but there was no sign of anyone wearing any sort of yellow raincoat. And this time, Mikkel convinced himself that his longing for a familiar face was playing tricks on his mind, and forgot about it altogether as he limped and staggered to the snack machine on his crutches.

*

A few minutes later, after staring through the glass of the vending machine and trying to decipher the many unfamiliar chocolate brands, Mikkel shoved his hand in its lower compartment and pulled out a Raider bar: he was counting on it being something like a Twix, given the distinctive wrapper. As he popped it in his pocket and turned to make his way back to his room, he found something, or more accurately, some _one,_ a little more familiar walking in his direction along the corridor.

Hannah was idly checking her watch as she went, sporting the same ponytail as she had when they’d last met.

‘Hello,’ he greeted her as she approached, which she returned with scarce enthusiasm when she spotted him beside the vending machine.

‘Still here?’ she asked casually, hands stuffed in her pockets and looking thoroughly bored.

Mikkel nodded and pointed to the cast poking out beneath his pyjama pants as though she hadn’t already noticed. ‘Is your papa working here again?’

‘No, I just like to aimlessly wander hospital corridors for fun,’ she mocked with a spark of amusement.

‘Funny,’ he remarked as he reached for the Raider in his pocket and offered her one of the bars.

She seemed dimly surprised as she glanced at the open wrapper in his outstretched hand, as though no one had ever done anything as easy and considerate as to share their snacks with her before. ‘Thanks’, she said, sliding one from the wrapper and surveying him with interest as she took a bite. ‘So how did you break your leg, anyway?’

Mikkel cast around for something impressive to say, some brilliant lie to tell her, anything but the truth, but in the end he said, ‘I just fell off my bike.’ He could’ve slapped himself.

‘Very cool,’ she snickered, and Mikkel smiled weakly as he felt an unfamiliar flush creep up the back of his neck. He suddenly felt very awkward and self-conscious, and he immediately looked about for a way to dodge the conversation.

‘Well… um, I need to go back to my room now. See you later.’

Hannah almost spat the rest of her chocolate out of her mouth ‘What?! You’re going to just leave me out here alone, to walk up and down this corridor for God knows how long?’

Not the indifferent response he had hoped for.

‘Well… um… I mean… I guess you can come with me, if you want.’

And this time, Hannah beamed. ‘Lead the way, boy from the future,’ she said, and the pair set off down the hall, Hannah’s hands in her pockets, Mikkel limping at her side.

*

Mikkel looked around the room nervously as Hannah slipped inside after him, eyeing him curiously.

‘What’s up? Never had a girl in your room before?’

Mikkel felt that unfamiliar flush crawl further up the back of his neck, and instinctively tried to cover it with the back of his hair as he tugged at the collar of his coat: he wanted to take it off, but didn’t dare risk it. But Hannah was paying him no attention anymore: she looked about the room, strolled right up to the spare bed and threw herself on top of it. ‘Not much of a room when you have to share it with someone else, is it?’ she said, as she fluffed out the pillows and stretched out languorously.

‘Its been empty since I got here,’ answered Mikkel, perching himself at the edge of his own bed opposite Hannah, who was looking very comfortable indeed.

‘You know, I could get used to this. Maybe I’ll break a leg too, then I can stay right here and skip school until we break for Christmas. I doubt anyone would even notice I’d gone.’

Mikkel just looked down as he awkwardly wrung his hands on his lap, suddenly at a loss at what to do with himself, still conscious of the heat prickling at the back of his neck.

‘You don’t say much, do you?’ Hannah observed, lifting herself off the pillows and sitting cross-legged on the bed to face him. ‘Does nobody speak in the future?’ She raised an eyebrow as a smirk tugged at her lips.

Mikkel just looked at her and shrugged his shoulders. But Hannah was watching him with interest now, a peculiar expression on her face.

‘You look familiar, somehow,’ she remarked. ‘Have you always lived in Winden?’

‘No,’ Mikkel said, feeling the heat rising at the back of his neck further still, but this time he knew why: being questioned about his past made him feel tense and uneasy.

Hannah picked herself up off the bed and sat beside him, keeping a polite distance between them but still much too close, Mikkel thought.

‘So where are you _really_ from, boy from the future?’ She kept referring to him as ‘boy from the future’, Mikkel noted, as though she had either forgotten his name or simply chose not to use it. ‘Why come here, to boring old Winden, where nothing ever happens?’

Mikkel straightened up a little and turned his head to face her as she regarded him curiously. Part of him wondered why she was so interested in him, and another part wondered whether he should be able to place her, the future version of her, but he found that he couldn’t: it wasn’t like he had known every adult in Winden, after all. He observed the colour and shape of her eyes, which were hazel, and the freckles dotting her pale skin, thinking, thinking, _feeling_ as though the answer was brushing the tips of his fingers yet he couldn't quite grasp it.

‘What are you staring at?’ Hannah snapped, and the answer fell out of his reach completely as he slammed back to reality. ‘Nothing _pretty_ , that’s for sure.’ She frowned.

‘S-sorry,’ Mikkel faltered. ‘I just thought that… that maybe I recognised you too.’  
  
‘How could you, if you’re not from around here? And you won’t even tell me where you’re really from?’

Mikkel just shook his head and hoped she’d drop it, sensing already that perhaps he should know better when it came to Hannah.

She regarded him shrewdly. ‘Oh, I see how it is now. You’re the mysterious stranger with no past that walks right into Winden and claims to be from the future, right? Well fine, I’ll stop asking you questions... but you can’t ask me any either. And if you do... a question asked for a question answered.’ She threw him a meaningful glance.

‘That’s a deal,’ Mikkel agreed easily, feeling an inability to question Hannah would be a worthy sacrifice if it meant she’d stop badgering him with her own. The two of them shook on it.

‘I do have just one more question for you, though, and I think you can at least answer me this one.’

Mikkel braced himself. ‘Go on…’.

‘How old are you?’

She was right. ‘I’m eleven.’

Hannah looked unimpressed at that. ‘Yikes. So young. Here, I’ll give you an answer free of charge: I’m fourteen, even though I look twelve. Your turn to ask me a question, now.’

Mikkel had already thought about the one thing he’d wanted to ask her since she’d stepped foot in this room: ‘How do you know Katharina?’

If he’d thought she couldn’t look more unimpressed, he'd been very wrong. She was rather prickly when she spoke next.

‘I remember you now... you were the weird kid at school a few days ago, looking for your mother… and why exactly do you want to know about Katharina? Do you like her or something?’ – Mikkel flinched with revulsion – ‘Because no offense, kid, but you’re a few years too young and a few years too late. Ulrich… he’s been following her around like a lapdog since they were like ten. She’d never stray... I’m not sure either of them would...’. She looked away then, a hint of misery merging with her frosty expression.

Mikkel felt himself rising to her prickliness, just a little. ‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I just.. I just thought I recognised her too. Different town, same faces, I guess.’

‘Whatever’, she muttered at that, but she appeared mollified all the same. ‘There’s still something about you, though. Maybe you just look like someone else I know… anyway, I have one more question for you, boy from the future, but save your question for me for another day, or we’ll be here till Christmas.’

‘Okay...’.

‘When exactly are you going to show me another magic trick?’

Mikkel grinned.

*

Mikkel now sat alone on his bed. It was early evening, and after a half hour of impressing Hannah with his sleight of hand, Ines had popped her head round the door to tell her that her father was looking for her. As fickle as it seemed Hannah could be, he was sad to see her go, to be left alone in his room once more. After a shower, he decided to mooch about the corridors himself, once again pausing before a picture on the wall that had captured his attention this morning on one of his earlier wanders. He had never seen it before then, had no idea of its significance, if it even had any at all, but there was something about it that had called to him, almost like the caves had called to him that fateful night.

It looked innocent enough: it appeared to be some kind of derelict building or open mountain, with more mountains, trees and a small church in the background. And around it water flowed, seemingly flooding the town, with a group of people gathered at a piece of land in the bottom corner as ducks swam in the waters. But that wasn’t really what interested him: it was the indecipherable words written inside the mountain in a language he couldn’t understand, although he could hazard a guess at it being Latin, that enraptured him. At the very bottom, above a strange sort of triangle formed my three merging loops, were the words _: sic mundus creatus est._

When the corridor fell quiet, he took it from the wall and brought it back to his room to study some more.

*

_November 12 th 1986 _

It had been a week since Mikkel arrived here. A week of living in 1986. A week without his family and friends.

He’d tried to study the picture he’d stolen some more, to make sense of anything at all, but to no fruition.

Hannah hadn’t returned to the hospital since he’d seen her last, and he’d tried to suppress the faint twinge of disappointment he felt that she hadn’t bothered to visit him again, if only to keep his mind off his own abysmal thoughts. He supposed it didn’t matter anymore, anyway: he wouldn’t be at the hospital much longer. Ines had told him as much this morning once he’d finished his breakfast (to ensure he actually ate something), when she regrettably advised him to be ready for a social worker to come and collect him that afternoon, to take him away to a children’s home, a home for lost and forgotten kids. _Kids like me,_ he’d thought as the nausea rose in his stomach.

Now, Ines sat before him across the table she’d carried into his room so he could practice his tricks. He told her of Houdini’s childhood dream of becoming a magician, and she watched with interest as he picked up a sugar cube from the saucer on the table and slid it beneath one of the fresh plastic cups she’d brought him. Tapping the base of each cup once, he lifted the cup the sugar cube had been concealed beneath to reveal nothing but unoccupied table, then lifted the other, under which the sugar cube now sat innocently, as though it had been there all along.

Ines smiled appreciatively and leaned forward. ‘Do you have the same dream?’

Mikkel nodded. ‘Yes… but the magic I want to do is impossible.’

‘Which is what?’ Ines pressed.

‘I just want to finally wake up.’

Ines sighed, and then asked him curiously, ‘have you heard of Master Zhuang’s paradox?’

Mikkel shook his head.

‘ _I dreamt I was a butterfly. Now I’ve woken up and no longer know if I’m a person who dreamed he’s a butterfly, or if I’m a butterfly who’s dreaming it’s a person._ ’

Mikkel tried to make sense of the words as they echoed through his mind.

‘What are you?’ Ines asked him with a glint in her eye. ‘A person or a butterfly?’

Was he a person or a butterfly? A man or a magician? A boy from the future who belonged in the past, or a boy in the past who belonged in the future?

‘Maybe I’m both,’ he said, lifting both plastic cups to reveal _two_ sugar cubes, one beneath each. He threw her a telling grin, and he pondered the paradox for the rest of the morning.

*

After lunch, Mikkel sat on his hospital bed besides a stack of his _Captain Future_ comics and one solitary bag of possessions Ines had procured for him: clothes, pyjamas, shoes, and a few more books.

But the social worker came and went, and ten minutes later Ines poked her head round the door and told him he was to stay another night at the hospital, and said no more until she visited him many hours later.

*

Early that evening after dinner, as Mikkel sat in bed waiting for Ines to call in, an unexpected visitor appeared at his door.

The ominous priest moved into the room as swift as a shadow as he took up a seat at Mikkel’s bedside. He didn’t ask him any more questions about God or the universe. He simply said, ‘I’d like to read to you tonight,’ and pulled the book Ines had given him out of Mikkel’s bedside drawer, as though he had intuitively known it would be there. Miserable at the thought of this being his last night at the hospital, despite growing to resent its dreary walls and halls, Mikkel remained silent as the strange man opened the book and began reading in a hushed, lulling tone.

And as he surrendered to the solace of sleep , Mikkel thought he saw just a flash of that familiar yellow raincoat in the corner of his eye, as his lids fell shut and the world darkened once more.

*

He awoke barely an hour later to a gentle knock at his door, and this time it wasn’t the priest but a mellow Ines that entered the room, such a stark contrast to the priest’s dark attire in her clean white uniform.

‘How are you?’ she asked as she settled in a chair beside him.

‘Why didn’t they take me away to the children’s home?’ he asked her quietly.

‘Let’s not worry about that now,’ Ines whispered, watching Mikkel fidget with the pawn he’d just removed from his pyjama pants pocket.

‘What’s this?’ she inquired suddenly, manoeuvring around the bed and picking up the stolen picture which now sat neatly on his bedside table. Mikkel was quite certain he had hidden it in one of the drawers, which meant it was surely the priest who had taken it out to observe it…

‘I… I was going to put it back… I just wanted to look at it for a while.’

Her puzzled expression softened, and she placed it carefully back on the table and perched on the end of his bed. ‘Hmm, I see. Well, you know… perhaps we could hang it up in your new bedroom.’

Mikkel stopped fidgeting with the pawn. He didn’t dare believe… surely not… _definitely_ not…

‘Of course,’ Ines continued with forced nonchalance, ‘the spare room in my house has been empty for twelve years, but I’m sure with a lick of paint and plenty of books and gadgets it’ll feel like home in no time.’

He sat up like a shot, heart beating a million miles an hour, ready to thump right out of his chest.

‘You… you really mean it? I can stay with you?’

Ines simply beamed. ‘It’s a temporary arrangement, for now. But I’m putting everything in place to make it permanent. That is, if you’d like it to be.’

Mikkel didn’t need to think twice. Anything but the children’s home, anything but more of these dreary walls…  
  
‘Can we leave now?’  
  
‘N-now? But... it’s getting late. Don’t you want to rest first? We’ve got the whole day to bring you home tomorrow. Plenty of time.’  
  
But the last thing Mikkel wanted was more time, more time to sit around and do nothing but think miserable thoughts that ran through his mind in an endless loop, and when Ines saw the desperate expression on his face, she said, ‘let me get changed and gather my things. I’ll meet you back here in ten minutes. But, let’s leave the emerald tablet here, shall we?’ She nodded at the stolen picture, then practically bounced out of the door in a flurry of white.

*

As the two of them left the hospital and headed for Ines’ car, Mikkel paused.

‘There’s something I want to tell you.’

Ines crouched before him, hands gently gripping his arms. ‘Of course. Anything.’

‘My… my name is Mikkel.’

Ines smiled. ‘I know. I saw it written in your book. And I want to talk to you in more detail about it in the morning over breakfast, but… I was wondering how you might feel about changing your name, to help you move on from… well, from your past?’

This gave Mikkel pause. Change his name? That felt like perhaps the ultimate betrayal of his family, a solid indication that he’d given up on ever getting back home.

‘But… what would I change it to?’

‘How about Michael? Michael… Kahnwald?’

*

And so Mikkel tried not to think too much about his new identity, should he agree to it, as he sat in the car and watched flashes of homes and flickers of forests and glimpses of the lake through the trees pass by. He could feel the wet of tears plastering his damp cheeks, and he wasn’t certain whether they were tears of joy or sadness. But when he arrived outside the Kahnwald home, cold hand clasped in Ines’ warm one, his breath caught in his chest.

He recognised this picturesque little house: he’d been here only once before, only months ago, in the summer: the day of his parents’ twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, to gather supplies for the party that night. He remembered it specifically because he’d felt like he was on fire, sick with rubella and bursting to pee, and because that day was one of the only instances he had come face to face with Jonas’ odd, troubled father, who had hanged himself the very next day.

Trying not to think about what any of that meant, he let Ines sweep him up into those comforting arms, holding on like the baby he’d tried so hard to convince himself he was not, as she carried him into his new home, his new life, safe and sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're there folks! Season one covered, phew!
> 
> Hope you’re enjoying it so far. BUT I HAVE QUESTIONS! 
> 
> I’ll be addressing Mikkel’s name change in the next chapter, and I need to know if you guys would prefer me to address him as Mikkel or Michael following on from that chapter. Of course, the characters will always address him as ‘Michael’ as they don’t know any better, but outside of direct speech, I mean. Initially I was inclined to write Mikkel in strikeout with Michael beside it for a few chapters, just to show him getting used to the name, kind of like how I went from him referring to Ines as ‘Nurse Ines’ and then to ‘Ines’ as he developed his relationship with her. But now I’m not so sure. Out of Mikkel and Michael, I’m more inclined to refer to him as Mikkel outside of speech, to illustrate the juxtaposition of his two identities, but I honestly don’t mind either way!
> 
> Please let me know what you think :)
> 
> And please leave me some kudos if you're enjoying the story so far, I’m starting to feel a little disheartened 😔❤️️
> 
> Thanks for reading guys! 😊


	6. These are the Things, I Can Do Without

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikkel struggles to come to terms with his new identity, and makes both an enemy and a friend in the two people he least expected during a confrontation at the lake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, so remember how I said I wanted to shorten the chapters down a bit? Yeah, that didn't work out so well.
> 
> BUT THIS CHAPTER WAS SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE!
> 
> And a big THANK YOU again to 'eitokus', 'Bubulona' & 'peaches_n_roses' for all your lovely comments on the last chapter, and thank you to all that left kudos. ❤️️
> 
> That's all I've got to say. Happy reading! :)

Chapter Six: These are the Things, I Can Do Without 

_November 12 th 1986_

The rest of the night slipped by in a blur of colour and confusion. Ines had insisted he get straight to bed, preparing him some hot cocoa topped with mini marshmallows as he changed into his pyjamas. The inside of the house looked only a little different to how he remembered it a few months ago, and he had to keep reminding himself that this was the house as it had been thirty-three years before he had seen it last. It had been easier, he’d thought as he changed for bed, to forget he was trapped in the 1980s when he’d been spending his days in the hospital. A hospital might perhaps reflect the passage of time less than a home, and although not glaringly dissimilar, this one was noticeably absent of any of the modern technology Mikkel had grown accustomed to throughout his childhood: there were no computers, no laptops, no mobile phones lying around. No iPads, no Xbox, no PlayStation in his room.

The spare room, the room which was to become his new bedroom for an indeterminable amount of time, was markedly unadorned: there was a small bed beside a wood-panelled wall, floor-length red curtains concealing a window overlooking a large tree and the road beyond, a small bedside table beneath it and a pile of cardboard boxes in the corner. The rest of the walls were obscured with a dated, striped wallpaper and were noticeably bare of any pictures, paintings or posters: the smell of dust and neglect lingered in the air.

As he crawled onto the bed and slid beneath the musty covers, Ines arrived holding a large, steaming mug and a royal blue cotton blanket under her arm.

‘I’m sorry it’s so empty,’ she said, setting the mug down on the table and unravelling the blanket. ‘We’ll go shopping for some furniture this weekend, and I’ve got some catalogues ready for you to take a look through tomorrow: pick anything you want and I’ll order it for you. I… I didn’t have the heart to do much with this room after Daniel. It was left as a guest room, not that it ever had any guests, of course.’ She ran a finger over the thick coating of dust on the table and sighed. ‘But we’ll soon have it fit for purpose. But for now, drink up and rest. We’ll be up bright and early in the morning, we’ve got a lot to talk about over breakfast.’ She ran a hand through his hair then, before placing a warm hand on his cheek, still plastered with sticky, dried-up tears. ‘I’m so happy to have you here, you know. I only hope with time, you’ll be happy to be here too.’

She stood then, and draped the cotton blanket over the duvet. ‘See you in the morning,’ she murmured softly, and left the room: Mikkel was so exhausted from the day’s events he took one sip of his cocoa and fell straight to sleep, bothered only by dreams of ominous caves, a formidable priest and flashes of a familiar yellow raincoat, but he didn’t wake up once.

_November 13 th 1986_

The next morning, the reality of his situation hit Mikkel like a brick. Several large, heavy bricks crashing down and smothering him under their weight all at once.

It was 1986.

_1986._

He was stuck in 1986 and he had no idea how to get out.

Mikkel almost marvelled at how easy it had been to neglect this fact in the hospital, despite the myriad of miserable thoughts that had plagued his mind. Mostly he had longed for his parents, his friends and his home, but the significance of the impossible situation he had found himself in hadn’t fully dawned on him until this moment.

_What was he going to do? How was he going to get home?_

Ines must have slipped into the room at some point, as the bag of belongings she had procured for him was unzipped beside the bed and a neat pile of clothing was folded for him on the bedside table. The abandoned cocoa had been removed.

He changed and opened the curtains framing the window. A large tree cast a great shadow across the glow of the morning sun: some of its branches were bare as a result of the approaching winter, while others were embellished with brown and gold foliage that fell lazily to the ground beneath, which was already festooned with a considerable heap of bronze and russet leaves.

Creeping downstairs, the sound of pots and pans and the smell of eggs and bacon filled the air. The staircase directly faced the bathroom, which was set into the wood-panelled wall across from the front door. He determinedly avoided looking at it, even though he knew he couldn’t hold his bladder for much longer. But using that bathroom would only remind him further of the last time he had set foot in this house.

‘Good morning, sleepyhead,’ Ines chimed upon noticing his arrival. ‘We’ve got eggs, bacon, toast, fresh orange juice and steaming hot coffee; decaf, for you, of course.’

Mikkel sat himself at the chair that had its back to the staircase and the bathroom adjacent, as though it might cease to exist should he no longer look at it. Ines placed a plate in front of him and piled it high with eggs, bacon and toast, before sliding him a glass of juice and a mug of hot coffee, tendrils of shimmering steam still rising and coiling above its surface.

‘Well then,’ she said, sitting in front of her own, significantly less piled plate, ‘where to begin? I’ve spoken to the school already, and they’ve agreed to have you enrol there after the Christmas holidays. They’re going to provide me with a summary of the curriculum and subjects they’ve covered so far last term, with some homework for you to complete over the next few weeks in order catch up with your classmates: I’ll pick all those up this afternoon. I already mentioned it to you last night, but I’ve gathered some catalogues for you to have a look through later, so we can make a start on your room and get you some new clothes. I have the week off work so I can be here with you while you settle in. But the most important thing we need to address,’ she continued, as though she had finally arrived at the subject she had been eagerly awaiting to broach, ‘is your name.’

‘I think it would be a good idea,’ she persisted, taking a sip of her coffee and trying to appear nonchalant, ‘if you wiped the slate clean. A new name, a new identity… I think it would help you integrate into your new life here with me, help you to separate the past from the present. I think it might help you forget any trauma you might have experienced before you came to me that day.’

A new _identity_? Despite hearing the truth in Ines’ words, the only constant in Mikkel’s mind was what a considerable betrayal that would be to his family, and to a past he wasn't quite sure he was ready to forget.

‘Of course,’ Ines said softly, ‘I would never force this decision upon you. It’s your choice to make, your life to lead. But I would encourage you to think very deeply about it this afternoon while I’m up at the school.’

Mikkel looked at her closely. ‘Why “Michael”? Last night, you suggested “Michael”. Why that name?’

Ines bit her lip and looked down at the table, suddenly focused on a nondescript grain of wood set into its surface. ‘Well… it’s not worlds away from Mikkel, is it? And it’s a lovely name, meaning “Gift from God”.’ She lifted her gaze to meet his eyes. ‘That’s what you are. That’s what… that’s what Daniel was. A gift. “Michael” was his middle name. It holds a lot of significance for me.’

Mikkel had been afraid of this. Since the day Ines had confessed so many of her own secrets, presented so many of her own vulnerabilities to him, a small voice at the back of his mind had wondered, hadn’t dared to consider, that a small part of Ines had seen a part of Daniel in himself, some part beyond the kindness, intellect or penchant for rebelliousness. Some part that was seeking not only to compare, but to replace.

‘But… I’m not Daniel.’

Ines stretched a hand across the table and took his hand in hers, supplying him with a gentle smile that didn’t quite meet the sadness in her eyes. ‘I know. I know you’re not. I don’t want you to think that… that I’m trying to replace Daniel with you. No one could ever do that. And I came to terms with losing him a long, long time ago.’ She paused uncertainly, as though trying to convince not only Mikkel but herself of this fact. ‘But for some reason beyond both yours and my control, fate brought you to me, and I want you to settle in here as easily as possible, and I think that means turning over a brand new leaf, wiping the slate clean altogether. If you would prefer another name, we can talk about it… or if you would rather remain as Mikkel, we can talk about that too…but I only have your best interests at heart.’

Mikkel cast his mind back to the night before, to the other name Ines had mentioned.

‘Your last name is Kahnwald?’

Ines nodded. ‘Hmm.’

 _Kahnwald._ That was Jonas’ last name, this he was sure of. Mikkel scrambled about his memory for any reference to a “Michael” that Jonas’ might have made, but his mind came up blank. 

‘Michael… Kahnwald…’, he uttered, feeling the name on his lips, the name of the stranger he was expected to become. Ines nodded encouragingly, both hands now holding his own, so warm and soft and gentle, the hands of a lonely woman who had already given him so much, more than he could ever have dared to ask for. The look of desperation infused with the spark of hopefulness in her eyes was almost too much for Mikkel to bear.

Praying to a God he didn’t believe in that the surname was merely a coincidence, knowing at the same time how incredibly feeble a prayer that was, he said, ‘tell the school… tell the school, I’ll… I’ll enrol as Michael Kahnwald.’

Ines positively beamed.

*

They spent the rest of the morning pouring over the catalogues Ines had procured, Mikkel remarking with increased incredulity at the bizarre assortment of toys, gadgets and ancient technology that cluttered their pages. It was all so unfamiliar that in the end he let Ines take the lead and make most of the decisions for him on what was to take up the space in his new room.

Part way through, Mikkel found he could no longer avoid the bathroom: his bladder was fit for bursting. He immediately regretted downing his coffee at breakfast. Sliding the door closed behind him, he squinted his eyes almost shut the whole time, as if he could block out any memories that might infiltrate his mind and almost missing the toilet bowl in the process. When he stumbled back out, he instinctively checked behind him, as though the shadowy figure of Jonas’ strange father might be pressed to the wall and peering back at him, a mirror of his own confusion and horror. But nothing greeted him but an empty staircase and wood-panelled walls.

As the morning drew to a close and the sun hung high in a pale grey sky, Ines snapped the catalogue she was holding shut with a flourish and pulled herself up off the sofa, reaching for her coat that was hung up on the peg beside the front door.

‘I think it’s best for now if you stay home for a little while,’ she announced as she pulled on her coat. ‘Just until things have settled down a little more with Mads, then you can go out and explore. I just… well, I’ve only just brought you home. I don’t want to lose you already… not when I’ve only just found you.’

Mikkel nodded wordlessly, feeling the ghost of anxiety settle in his bones at the thought of being left alone in this house. Ines surveyed him curiously before smiling sympathetically and crouching down before him, taking his face in her hands.

‘We’ll make some lunch when I get back, then we can go through the enrolment forms and your schedule for the schoolwork… and let’s do something fun tonight and watch a film, what do you say? I’ve got popcorn and enough junk food to eat our body weight in and then some. And tomorrow we can go for a drive around Winden. I’ll admit, there’s not much to do around here, especially for a young boy like yourself, but… it’ll be good to get out of the house.’

*

When the door closed behind her a few moments later, Mikkel found he had the house to himself with very little to occupy him: no phone, no laptop, no computer. His fingers were almost itching to type a search into Google, to find some information on what he should do next, but he privately felt that sending _“what to do when you accidentally travel back in time”_ through any internet search engine wouldn’t likely garner many reliable results.

In the end, he headed back upstairs to his room and collapsed on the bed. _His_ bed. The sunlight streaming through the window filled the room with a pale gold glow, illuminating the pile of cardboard boxes in the corner. Debating with himself for a moment on whether he ought to investigate further, curiosity quickly got the better of him and he peeled himself from the bed, kneeling before the boxes that were absent of the dust that had settled across the rest of the room.

The nearest box had been sellotaped but was not secured shut, as though someone had opened it and rifled through its contents recently. Pulling it towards him, he lifted the folds and peered inside.

Inside were an assortment of neatly-folded baby clothes and blankets in various shades of blue and ivory, and buried amongst the fabrics was a small polaroid photograph. Hands shaking, he curled his fingers around the picture and examined its contents: a much younger version of Ines was centre-frame, a patient inside a hospital bed rather than the nurse at its side as Mikkel had grown so accustomed to. In her arms was a tiny bundle swathed in a pale blue blanket not unlike the one that now rested at Mikkel’s feet. And peeking out through the fabric was a small face, its innocent eyes as blue as the cotton it was wrapped in and focused intently on the face of its mother, who was gazing back at him with so much love and wonder in her eyes it was almost palpable. Turning over the polaroid, Mikkel read: _Me_ _\+ My Daniel, November 4 th 1974._

Shoving the contents back into the box and fighting back the tears that were now threatening to fall, he fell back onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling, feeling very much like an imposter inside another boy’s room, an imposter living another boy’s life.

*

_November 29 th 1986 _

It had been just over two weeks since he’d arrived at his new home with Ines. Two weeks of living with a new identity. Two weeks of being ‘Michael Kahnwald’.

He’d barely left the house in those two weeks, so it still felt completely foreign to him, although he’d had to print his new name after every completed homework sheet he’d received from the school to keep his days busy.

His room now resembled a bedroom an eleven-year-old boy might actually occupy, but certainly no eleven-year-old boy Mikkel had ever known in 2019, or any year of his life before it. Every gadget that filled the shelves and littered the floor felt as foreign to him as his new identity.

Today was Saturday, and Ines had suggested he get out of the house and explore Winden.

‘Things with Mads have calmed down and as far as we know, no other children have gone missing, so I think it’s safe for you to head out on your own,’ she said this morning over toast and marmalade. ‘But stick to places other children will be, mostly the grounds bordering the lake; don’t go wandering into the forest or any secluded areas, and stick to the main roads. And make sure you’re back before nightfall. This is our phone number,’ she said, pressing a small piece of paper in hand, ‘in case you get lost or need to contact me. Head to the police station or the hospital and give me a call from there, and I can come and pick you up.’

So that afternoon Mikkel found himself sporting a thick red turtleneck and wrapped in his coat, making his way nervously toward the lake. The lake itself was a predominant feature of Winden, as well Mikkel knew, having spent many days there himself, playing in the lake on summer afternoons with his friends or his siblings, he and Jonas against Magnus and Bartosz, squaring off in round after round of water fights.

It was mostly empty this afternoon, given the bitter chill of the late autumn air. A few kids were playing around in the piles of fallen leaves or else shoving them under each other’s woolly hats and down the necks of their jumpers and coats: a small group of older girls were watching with apparent disdain, packed onto a large wool blanket and surrounded by colourful, girly magazines boasting _ten tips on being wardrobe-ready for 1987_ and _free posters of Ralph Macchio inside._ Mikkel had absolutely no idea who that was.

Only one other person occupied this section of the lake: on one of the logs used as makeshift benches sat a solitary teenage girl, about fourteen or fifteen, with a mop of bushy brown hair that looked as though she might have (rather unsuccessfully) tried to pull a brush though it. She wore thick-rimmed glasses and a brown coat, a large pair of headphonesperched atop her head and entirely lost in a book.

Mikkel sat himself down on an adjacent log, at the farthest spot to the girl, so as to not disturb her, but she didn’t glance up from the page she was on once. Just as he was pulling off his backpack and taking out the _Captain Future_ comic he’d brought along for afternoon reading, a cacophony of voices filled the air, low and distant at first but rapidly rising, quickly approaching. The kids mucking around in the leaves suddenly looked rather nervous and hastily scrambled further along the lake and out of sight, and while the group of girls didn’t depart from their setup, they quickly pulled out a bulky device from each of their bags, pulled on some equally massive headphones and absorbed themselves fully in their garish magazines. The girl with the bushy hair didn’t register the disturbance, the sounds of the world drowned out by the headphones as she turned the page of her book.

‘Tiedemann!’

Mikkel glanced up at the source of the noise: an irritable-looking Katharina was marching in his direction, growing more formidable with every step as the chill afternoon breeze wafted through her blonde hair, revealing a fresh bruise on the side of her forehead whenever the light wind propelled her bangs skyward. But she marched straight past Mikkel and paused before the solitary girl, who was now abruptly aware of the disturbance and was pulling off her headphones as two figures joined Katharina on either side: one was a girl Mikkel didn’t recognise, and the other was a small figure sporting a familiar, long brown ponytail: Hannah.

‘No surprise seeing you here, nose stuck in a book like always. Don’t you ever do anything else?’ Katharina leaned forward and snatched the book out of the girl’s hands. Gazing at the cover, she sent a smirk in her direction. ‘Romeo and Juliet? Seriously?’

The bushy-haired girl was shaking her head furiously, making futile efforts to retrieve her book from Katharina’s hands.

‘You’re pathetic. Have you started filling that bushy head of yours with sad ideas about you and that scumbag you hang around with these days? Do you daydream about the greasy slimeball sweeping you and your bushy head off your feet like some tragic attempt at Romeo and Juliet?’

Tears were threatening to spill like waves down the girl’s cheeks, but she was holding her ground, staring valiantly into the cruel eyes of her bully through the pools of tears that filled her own. Mikkel could feel his heart pounding in his chest at a rate he hadn’t experienced since the night he had awoken alone in those caves in the forest.

‘I’ll bet you think about it all the time, don’t you?’ Katharina continued, Hannah and the other girl at Katharina’s side still silent. Hannah wasn’t smiling, but she wasn’t doing anything to put a stop to this either. ‘I’ll bet you fantasise about those slimy fingers all over you. Thinking about giving away that precious virginity, after all?’

The bushy-haired girl simply looked to the ground, tears spilling beneath the rims of her enormous glasses as Katharina began ripping pages from the book at random.

Before Mikkel could stop himself, before his body had caught up with his mind and reacted only to his disgust and fury of the scene unravelling before him, he pushed himself up from the log, the comic on his lap falling to the floor, all eyes suddenly on him with no idea of what exactly he was going to say or do next. He tried to find Hannah’s eyes, to silently plead for her to come to both his and the bushy-haired girl’s defence, to put Katharina in her place with the bravado and clever wit she had displayed for him back at the hospital. But Hannah wasn’t looking at him: she was determinedly avoiding his gaze, looking in every direction but his. Mikkel noted how small and vulnerable she appeared in Katharina’s looming shadow.

Katharina thew a calculating look in his direction, as though only just registering his presence at the scene at all. And then her eyes lit up deviously.

‘Oh, _look_ , Regina, you’ve found yourself _another_ boyfriend to fight your battles for you. Personally, I think this one’s more your type than the scum you’re hanging around with these days. For one, he’s just a little kid, and we all know you like them young: everyone knows you were practically in love with Mads. So you’ve got a good few years left before he starts demanding that you put out, and by that time you can go off and find some other little kid to protect you and keep holding on to that precious virginity of yours.’

Mikkel’s blood thrummed through his body, through his head and his ears like molten lava, and the heat at the back of his neck threatened to catch fire. Gulping down as much air as he could fit through the closing walls of his throat, he said, ‘why don’t you just leave her alone? What’s she ever done to you?’

Hannah met his eyes then, seemingly impressed at his show of courage beneath Katharina’s icy stare, but Mikkel didn’t care anymore: he was too angry at the girl who stood before him now, the poisonous girl he was so sure was his… was his…

‘Listen kid,’ Katharina spat, ‘stay out of things you know nothing about and go run along home to your mama.’ She looked at him then, a spark of recognition flittering across her features. ‘Or Mr. Hubert, since according to you they're one and the same, you stupid little dork. Been dropping any more acid lately?’

At that moment another tall figure joined them in the form of a gangly teenaged boy Mikkel was disheartened to find he recognised instantly, recognised as the boy that had greeted him unpleasantly on his own doorstep the morning he’d arrived in 1986 and introduced himself as Ulrich.

‘What’s going on here?’ he muttered now, long legs treading the ground to land at Katharina’s side.

‘Nothing, just the freak and her new boyfriend shoving their noses in other people’s business,’ Katharina scowled. Ulrich observed the pitiful girl still sobbing on the floor and the quivering outline of Mikkel stood not six feet away. He shook his head.

‘Just leave it, Katharina. He’s just some little kid. Nikolas is over on the east-side of the lake. He’s brought some of the good stuff, everyone’s chilling over there. Let’s just leave the little virgins to it.’

Katharina glared at Mikkel, and then at the bushy-haired girl, but she allowed Ulrich to throw an arm across her shoulders and steer her away from the scene all the same, Hannah and her other crony following in her wake. Hannah cast one last unreadable look in Mikkel’s direction as she walked away, but he just looked at her blankly, furious that she had refused to acknowledge her friend’s horrible behaviour. He turned to the bushy-haired girl and thought he caught Hannah scowling from the corner of his eye as he did so.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked her quietly.

‘Thank you,’ the girl said, picking herself up off the ground and pulling off her glasses to wipe at her eyes and her tear-stained cheeks beneath. ‘Really, thank you. You didn’t need to do that.’ She slipped her glasses back on her nose and peered at him nervously.

Mikkel nodded, still shaking with nerves and anger himself. He turned away to collect his comic and make his escape back home, but Regina grabbed his hand and stopped him in his tracks.

‘Wait!’ she called, dropping his hand as he turned back to face her. ‘My… my name’s Regina. Regina Tiedemann. My mama is the new manager up at the power plant.’

Mikkel just looked at her, the fury in his bones mellowing to a chord of disbelief. Regina Tiedemann. The girl who had given a witness statement regarding Mads’ last whereabouts before he disappeared. Regina Tiedeman, who surely could not be the same dishevelled teenage girl who would become the mother of…

‘I don’t think I’ve seen you around before,’ she said, looking at him with a flicker of curiosity now. ‘What’s your name?’

Mikkel hesitated as the name he had lived with for eleven years formed then halted at his lips. He was still struggling to come to terms with his new identity. After a few moments, he met her eyes and replied, ‘Michael. Michael Kahnwald.’

*

That evening over dinner with Ines, all Mikkel could do was think about was his mother, his mother as he had always known her, strong and good and loving and kind, and the venomous bully with the chip on her shoulder at the lake this afternoon. He pushed his food around on his plate, unable to eat a thing. Not daring to believe he might just have made an enemy in his own teenaged mother, and a friend in a bushy-haired, fifteen-year-old Regina Tiedemann.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there we have it! It was fun to introduce a few more characters and areas of Winden outside the hospital to the story. I always planned to bring Regina into the story, expect more of her character in the oncoming chapters. I think there will only be one, possibly two more chapters after this before I start looking into the events of season two, because I am wanting to progress the fic to beyond the events of season three at a reasonable pace, and I have so many ideas!
> 
> And just a note, I chose the chapter title because I was listening to 'Shout' by Tears for Fears while writing, I felt like the energy of the song encompassed some of the anger Mikkel felt during this chapter. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	7. Christmas with the Kahnwalds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikkel meets a fellow new Winden resident, shares his first quiet Christmas with Ines, and starts his first day at Winden High School.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big THANK YOU once again to 'Bubulona', 'eitokus' and 'peaches_n_roses' for your incredible comments and another big thank you to everyone that left kudos, it's sincerely appreciated as always! ❤️
> 
> I don’t have anything else to say but enjoy :)

Chapter Seven – Christmas with the Kahnwalds

_December 5 th 1986_

It had been a month already. A month of living in 1986.

This morning Mikkel had awoken in a tangle of sheets and drenched in sweat. He rubbed at his eyes and brushed away the strands of hair sticking to his forehead, looking around his bedroom, the bedroom that still didn’t quite feel like his own, as if it might belong to another boy he’d never met.

Mikkel had been troubled with nightmares for the past few weeks. While initially sleep had come to him quite easily, as the days had slipped by and the darkly taunting novelty of this new life had slowly settled upon him, a dreamless sleep had become rather like an old friend that had vanished from his life like frost at the dawn of spring, like water to flames.

While at first the nightmares were plagued with dark caves, endless tunnels and formidable priests, somewhere along the way they had begun to shift and reshape, transforming into nightmares that presented themselves like dreams on the surface yet still had him awakening with a jolt in the middle of the night; dim shadows belonging to the naked branches of the tree outside his window would whisper through the curtains, leaving silhouettes across the floor like long, bony fingers, twitching and itching to steal him away into the unknown: Mikkel privately felt he might just let them, should they try.

In these bizarre nightmares, Mikkel was tormented with visions of himself, how he might look when he was just a little older; he was back in his original timeline with his family, but things weren’t quite right, weren’t quite as he remembered them. His father was noticeably absent, his brother and sister were dark and sombre imitations of the way he recalled them, and they seemed troubled and uneasy. But most curiously of all, they all resided inside the very walls he lived in now, in this small, picturesque little house with its unkempt garden and scarlet exterior. In the visions, his room belonged to the attic that was situated just above the bedroom where he lay at this moment. And while inside these nightmares he had never travelled back in time, had never been dragged away from his family and separated from them by the impenetrable obstacle that was time itself, his family felt rather like strangers; he himself felt like a stranger, as much so as the alias ‘Michael Kahnwald’ felt to him right now. And everything felt distinctly wrong, as patently out of place as they did now, here in 1986. The nightmares left him feeling as tense and uneasy as any visions of twisting caves or endless tunnels might.

Mikkel sighed and peeled back the bed covers, not quite ready to face yet another day lost in the past.

*

As today was Friday and the winter holidays were approaching for the students of Winden, Mikkel had decided to head once more to the lake. He had scouted the borders of the lake from every angle in recent weeks, searching for an isolated spot that kids might leave unoccupied. He would head out with his comics, his books, the old Walkman Ines has given him that he’d spent an afternoon figuring out how to use, slipping in and out the various tapes that had accompanied it, loaded with tracks that for the most part Mikkel had been completely unfamiliar with, save for one or two classics. Here he would while away the late morning and early afternoon hours, wrapped up in his coat and the various layers beneath, listening to the list of unfamiliar songs and reading, before giving in to his own thoughts and contemplating the world around him, thinking of his family and trying to decide how he might get back home, ruminations that always ended with unsettling ideas of him returning to the caves.

When the sounds of children’s voices began to fill the empty air, he would know school had disbanded for the day, at which time he would pack up his things and begin the trek home: he no longer felt any desire to socialise, not with Hannah nor with Regina nor with anybody else. He privately wondered whether perhaps his friendship with Hannah had functioned only inside the walls of the hospital, and had ended before it had truly begun that day at the lake two weeks ago, when her silence had spoken louder than her wit. And Regina, as kind as she seemed to be, appeared to be the target of unfortunate torment at the hands of Katharina and presumably many of the other teenagers of Winden, and as his goal was to remain as undetectable as possible for however long it took him to devise a plan of escape, he considered any relationship with her to be detrimental to those plans: it would only draw more attention to him that he simply didn’t need nor want. So he spent his days alone, his thoughts, memories and the characters in his books and comics his only forms of companionship. The lyrical wailings of the artists that crooned through his bulky headphones were the only voices he heard beyond Ines’ and occasionally his own, which was becoming more foreign to him with each passing day.

Today, he sat in his usual spot on a blanket-covered log beside the lake, a small slip of land hidden behind tangles of trees that lead to the edges of the forest, and tall brushes of grass that hadn’t yet submitted to the chill of winter, which meant it was rather well concealed and usually left uninhabited by anyone but himself. It was cold, much too cold to be whiling away the hours outside in the open air: the lake was already beginning to freeze over, a flat icy sheet interspersed with the occasional pool of unfrozen water, and the grass was dying and brown and packed solid beneath his feet as his boots had crunched across the grounds. The sky above was as white as bleached bone and a constant threat of rain and snow lingered in the air. But Ines wasn’t to know he was out here: she worked most days, spending endless hours in the hospital that was once his home, and believing he spent his days in his room pouring over his schoolwork, he would bid her goodbye after breakfast, race through his assignments and slip out the door after a lonely, half-eaten lunch. He would be back long before she returned, tired and weary but oh so trusting in him and his whereabouts, his days presumably spent at home. Perhaps she suspected something, he wasn’t sure, but it made him feel guilty nonetheless. But not guilty enough to remain locked inside the house, a prisoner to its walls day after day.

After an hour or two of reading, he pulled off his headphones and resigned himself to some time alone with his own contemplations. It wasn’t long before he heard the customary cries of children and teenagers, liberated from a day of school and an entire weekend ahead of them: it was time to start heading back. He would pack up his things and dip into the fringes of the forest, heading west, continuing in that direction for a few minutes until he approached the forest road, a shortcut that led him to main road and not too far from his new home.

As he walked, stray branches crunching underfoot as he went, he thought he heard a murmur of voices somewhere inside the woods, just a short distance from where he stood. He slipped behind a sizeable tree, and as he peered around its vast trunk, he caught site of two people locked in a tight embrace and glued at the lips.

He took a step back, more than content to leave them to it and continue his usual journey home, when his foot connected with a twig on the ground and it snapped, the woods so dense that the sound reverberated off the branches of the trees and the few remaining leaves that clung to them. He cursed under his breath.

‘Michael?’

Mikkel paused, not wanting to look to the source of that familiar voice, wanting instead to set off home at a run in the opposite direction. Instead he turned to face the familiar bushy-haired girl and the boy beside her, both watching him, both sitting on a large woollen blanket splayed out across the twigs and leaves of the forest grounds and sheltered beneath a vast collection of tree branches.

‘Come over here,’ Regina called, signalling him forward. And despite his desire to do just the opposite, he joined them, sitting down in the spot Regina cleared for him on the blanket.

‘This is Aleksander,’ she said as she motioned in the boy’s direction. ‘He came to Winden not long after yourself, actually.’

Aleksander appeared a few years older than Regina, more a young man than a boy, Mikkel realised, with dark hair that fell below his ears and eyes that seemed wise beyond his years. He figured this was who Katharina had been taunting Regina about two weeks ago. Aleksander politely extended a hand out to Mikkel, which after a beat Mikkel shook. His hand was rougher and more calloused than he had anticipated for someone so young.

‘What are you doing hanging around the forest on your own?’ Regina probed.

‘I… I don’t have much to do before I start school next month. I’d rather be outside than stuck at home.’

Regina angled her head, peering at him curiously through those thick-rimmed glasses. ‘Does your mama know you come out here?’

Mikkel shook his head and Regina shared a knowing look with Aleksander.

‘Just… be careful, that’s all,’ she said when she turned back to face him. ‘After what happened with Mads… it was a while ago now, but it’s still not safe to be walking around the woods alone, even in the day.’

Mikkel nodded, not really listening to what she was saying: his mind was still caught on the mention of Mads, and wondering, wondering if maybe what had happened to himself had happened to Mads too…

‘You remind me of him, you know,’ Regina continued, drawing Mikkel back into the moment. ‘Mads, I mean. You even look like him. He was a good kid. We had fencing classes together, and when we finished he’d never let me walk through the forest alone, not after… well, you saw how Katharina was a few weeks ago. He would have done the same as you that day, you know. Mads would have stuck up for me just like you did.’

Mikkel noticed Aleksander cast Regina an appraising glance, and he wondered whether she had spoken much about her friendship with Mads to Aleksander before today. But then he said, ‘anyone who looks out for Regina is a friend to me,’ and offered a warm smile in Mikkel’s direction that seemed to soften the sharp wisdom in his eyes and made him appear much younger.

They spoke for a while about trivial matters, such as Mikkel starting school next month, the lack of anything to do in Winden, and how they might spend the winter holidays.

‘My mama is always working,’ Regina sighed, ‘she forgets I exist some days. I wouldn’t be surprised if I spent Christmas day alone. Perhaps I’ll go and visit my grandpapa, I never see him these days...’.

‘You won’t be alone,’ Aleksander purred softly, lacing Regina’s hands in his and giving them a gentle squeeze. ‘You’ve got me now.’

Mikkel, feeling uncomfortable with the sudden display of affection, and more than happy to give them some privacy, started readying himself to leave, but just as he was about to stand up and say his goodbyes, Regina brought those bespectacled eyes to meet his once more.

‘What about you, Michael? Have you got any plans for your first Christmas in Winden?’

He had a distinct lack of plans, Mikkel thought regretfully. He was supposed to have figured out what to do next by now, was supposed to be back home before Christmas, but try as he might he had come to no solid conclusions besides returning to the caves to investigate, and had spent most of his time moping and missing his family. And he wasn’t sure, wasn’t sure just yet, that he was ready to return to those caves.

‘I guess… I guess it’ll just be me and… and my mama,’ he replied, pulling at a stray bit of wool that he’d absently freed from its intricate embroidery, avoiding any eye contact with either of them. ‘I don’t really have any other family here.’

Regina nodded sympathetically, but Aleksander snaked a hand free from Regina’s grip and placed it on Mikkel’s shoulder: it felt warm despite the bitter winter chill. When Mikkel raised his head, the look in Aleksander’s eyes suggested he knew what Mikkel was thinking without him uttering a word, and those tiny shards of wisdom flashed imperceptibly. ‘Blood is not as significant as it’s made out to be, you know. Family is what you make it. Family can be your friends and those who care about you as much as it can be those who bleed the same blood as you.’

Regina was looking at Aleksander so dreamily now, Mikkel could only express his appreciation for the kind words with a small nod and a weak smile before getting to his feet. He thanked Regina and Aleksander, who smiled as they waved him goodbye, and headed back, his mind retracing Aleksander’s words the entire way home. Nothing, _nothing_ , would ever replace his family. It seemed to him that perhaps Regina and Aleksander had their own problems when it came to family, that perhaps they were not as lucky as Mikkel had been: he recoiled inwardly as he was revisited by more reprimanding thoughts about his lack of recognition and appreciation for what he’d had. But, he thought, perhaps there was some truth to Aleksander’s words. Perhaps he could find some sort of family in Ines. But there was nobody else here that cared about him, and he had no real friends of which to form a family with.

He walked home, a hollow feeling in his chest he knew only time could heal.

_December 24 th 1986_

Christmas Eve brought with it a flurry of snow, which carpeted the roads and streets beyond his bedroom window like an iridescent dream. The house resembled something from a fairy-tale, with its crimson exterior and frosted windows; the roof was heaped with powdery snow like layers of sugar icing, dripping with polished crystal icicles. The wild gardens that encompassed it were nothing more than a untamed blend of pearl and alabaster beneath a porcelain sky, a pure and glittering winter wonderland.

Despite the wintry scenes outside, despite the garlands and streamers and trimmings that now festooned every wall of the house, despite the modest Christmas tree with its festive baubles and colourful tinsel that now resided in the living room corner… Mikkel was not looking forward to Christmas.

His first Christmas without his real mama, his papa, Magnus and Martha, his grandparents… were they missing him too? Were they still searching for him, even now, trudging through the piles of snow with a flashlight and calling out his name? Or were they perhaps gathered inside his old home, drinking and cheering and laughing amongst the festivities? Had they perhaps already forgotten him?

But he hadn’t forgotten them. And as he lay with Ines on the sofa that festive evening, buried beneath blankets and watching old Christmas movies on the vintage TV, he made a promise to himself: if his family hadn’t found him by the first arrival of spring, he would go back to those caves. He would go back, and somehow, he would get back home. _I’m not afraid,_ he told himself, and he fell asleep to the sounds of canned laughter from the movie on TV, and the gentle thud of fresh snowfall that tumbled and swirled outside the living room windows.

_December 25 th 1986_

Christmas in the Kahnwald household was a rather quiet affair. There was no bickering or arguing with his siblings, no tense and frazzled mutterings from his mother as she worked Christmas dinner in the kitchen, no drunk warbling from his father as he sat on the sofa with a jug of mulled wine before his mother marched into the room and demanded he help out in the kitchen. No visiting grandparents laden with chocolate and gifts. No madness and chaos and pandemonium of the usual busy Christmases Mikkel had experienced every year before this.

Ines had prepared what could only be described as a feast for breakfast: stacks of pancakes dripping in syrup, warm cinnamon rolls fresh from the oven, plates of pepper nut cookies, lebkuchen shaped like snowflakes and topped with icing, ginormous gingerbread muffins… it smelled like the world’s best bakery, and Mikkel could only marvel at how early Ines might have awoken this morning to bake it all.

‘Merry Christmas, sleepyhead,’ Ines declared on his arrival, pouring herself some eggnog.

‘This is…,’ Mikkel started, not sure there was a word adequate to describe it or where to look first.

Ines smiled and shoved him into a chair, sliding him a glass of eggnog and not permitting him to leave the table until he’d sampled a bit of everything.

*

After eating until he was fit to burst, Ines motioned to a few small neatly wrapped presents beneath the tree: Mikkel had been so distracted by the magnificent spread on the table that he hadn’t even noticed them. They were small gifts, and there was certainly no Xbox One or PlayStation 4 amongst them; a Rubik’s cube, a basketball, an acrylic paint set… but Mikkel felt overwhelmed just the same.

After admiring his new gifts and completing the Rubik’s cube, Mikkel headed upstairs and pulled a box wrapped in festive paper embellished with scarlet hollies out from under his bed and returned downstairs. He presented the box to a stunned Ines, who was just about to put the turkey in the oven. 

‘It’s not much…’ he muttered quietly, feeling embarrassed and quite sure she would hate it.

Ines took the gift and unwrapped it slowly. Inside was a small, pleasant wooden box engraved with a twisting tree surrounded by stars. ‘I saw you looking at it when we were looking for a desk for my room, and I wanted to use my pocket money to get you something…to say thank you,’ he started, trying to fill the awkward silence as Ines traced a finger across the engraving.

Ines pulled him in for a hug and didn’t let him go for several long minutes

*

In the afternoon they wrapped up warm in coats and gloves and woolly hats and took a stroll around the lake, watching some of the braver Winden residents ice skate across the frozen lake, or else build families of snowmen, a number of them erected by a group of youths with carrots in rather crude places. Mikkel had to dodge snowballs flying through the air several times.

After a quiet Christmas dinner that Ines had lovingly prepared herself (insisting that Mikkel relax despite offering to help her several times), Ines asked Mikkel to join her outside to admire the wintery utopia that was their garden while she smoked a cigarette. Mikkel pulled on his coat and hat as Ines passed him a mug of hot cocoa to take with him.

But when he walked outside, resting beside the front steps was a brand-new, shiny red bike, topped with two giant crimson bows on each handle.

‘You didn’t think I wouldn’t spoil you on your first Christmas with me?’ Ines grinned, eyes glinting in the fading afternoon light. ‘Besides, all the kids in Winden have bikes, you couldn’t be without one.’

Mikkel didn’t know what to say: he was speechless. Feeling overcome with shock and gratitude, he placed his mug on the floor and wrapped Ines in a warm hug, remarking somewhat grimly to himself despite his delight that he had, in fact, received the wheels he had always wanted this Christmas after all.

*

_January 5 th 1987 _

Mikkel hadn’t slept all night, hadn’t even bothered to try. He was crippled with fear.

Today he was to start school. Today he would be expected to sit amongst his supposed peers, the youthful imitations of the adults he had once known, children or teenagers that might one day grow up to become the teachers that had already bestowed upon him their knowledge of maths or science or literature.

The nausea was like a furious beast that clawed at his stomach, and the threat of vomiting up his breakfast was so much so that he took one bite of his toast and left it at that.

Ines drove him to school. He was reminded of the last day he had spent in 2019, the last day his life had resembled anything normal, when his father had dropped him off outside school and he’d bidden him goodbye, barely glancing at him as he’d made his way toward his friend. He regretted that now, hadn’t known back then that it would be the last time he saw his father for who knows how long. He said goodbye to Ines now and watched the car disappear down the road, this time heading for the hospital rather than the police station where his father worked. He wondered if he father would be there now, sat at his desk and pouring over papers in an effort to find him. He wondered if his father as he had known him might exist at all right now, or if only 1986 as it stood before him existed at this moment, if the future was already a distant memory permanently altered by his mere presence in the past.

Swallowing as much air as his constricted lungs would allow him, he made his way toward the familiar orange-yellow doors of the school, praying for a second time to a God he didn’t believe in that he would make it through the day in one piece.

*

And perhaps there was a God after all, Mikkel thought idly as he left his final lesson of the day: he’d managed to get through the day relatively unscathed. None of his teachers had called on him to introduce himself to the class as he’d seen countless times in the movies, but rather just motioned to where he sat at the back of the class when they reached his name on the register, telling his classmates to be welcoming and to answer any of his questions should he have them. But none of them approached him or started any conversation with him, although he’d certainly compelled a few curious glances throughout the day: a new kid in class in a town as small as Winden was a unique occurrence at any time or decade.

He’d kept his head down and avoided any and all conversation the entire day, determined to not draw attention to himself or observe any faces too closely lest he recognise them for their older counterparts. He’d dared only once to answer a question, when no one else could, and when his History teacher had asked him how he’d known the answer, he’d mentioned he’d read it on Wikipedia, which only afforded him a lot of very confused stares and exasperated mutterings under his classmates’ breaths. Mikkel figured he might already have cemented his reputation as the weird kid, and remained silent for the rest of the day. 

As the school day came to a close, Mikkel headed for his new locker to retrieve the assortment of schoolbooks he’d received from his teachers. As he pulled open the door, he heard someone call his name further down the hall. 

‘Michael!’

Hurrying towards him was a slightly less bushy-haired Regina than he remembered from last month, still sporting her thick-rimmed glasses and permanently anxious expression however as she paused before him. 

‘How was your first day in hell?’ she asked with genuine concern.

At that moment, Katharina, Ulrich and Hannah appeared around the corner and began making their way down the corridor. Regina turned to follow the direction of his gaze, then looked back at him, eyeing him apprehensively.

‘I have to go,’ she sighed. ‘Katharina only has to look at me these days and she’ll blow up. I’ll try and catch you tomorrow. Remember to let me know if you need anything.’ And to Mikkel’s surprise she wrapped him in a swift hug before adjusting her glasses and disappearing down the corridor.

As he turned back toward his locker, he caught sight of Hannah, who was now alone and had evidently been watching their exchange at the other side of the hall. Her eyes followed Regina sharply as she disappeared through the doors. When she noticed him staring, she headed in his direction.

‘Good to see you and Regina have grown so _close_ ,’ Hannah goaded as she leant against the wall of lockers beside him.

‘She’s a good person,’ Mikkel answered bluntly, shutting his locker and turning to face her.

Hannah raised an eyebrow. ‘Maybe. So, how was your first day in hell?’

Mikkel began to shoulder on his backpack, trying to ignore both her and the identical replica of Regina’s question she had asked him as he readied himself to leave. Was this place so bad it could be described by two different people as 'hell' in a matter of minutes?

Hannah sighed dramatically, peeling herself from the lockers and rolling her eyes. ‘Are you not speaking to me because of what happened at the lake back in November, or because you just don’t speak much in general?’

Mikkel debated just walking away, but his resolve to not question her didn’t last long. ‘Why didn’t you say anything at the lake? You could’ve stopped her!’

There was no need to clarify who he meant by ‘her’, and Hannah was suddenly looking rather prickly again. ‘You don’t get it, you’re too young… you’ll learn soon enough, after a few weeks in this place. Katharina wouldn’t have listened to me, anyway. She would’ve probably disowned me if I’d stepped in, and I _need_ Katharina. Without her, I’m nobody. Without her, at best I’m an outcast, and at worst, I’m… well, you saw what happened to Regina. And if you don’t keep your mouth shut around Katharina in future, that’ll be you next too.’

Mikkel observed her closely. Beneath the indignant exterior she appeared almost pleading, but he just said, ‘I’d rather be an outcast than a bully.’

Hannah just looked at him, incensed but also clearly stung. And when she remained speechless and seemingly no longer able to plead her case, Mikkel began to walk away, leaving her dumbstruck and alone behind him in the corridor. He regretted his coolness with very step he took, and hesitated by the door leading to the main entrance and freedom. He turned back to apologise, but found she was already gone. As he sighed and continued on his way out of the school, he resolved to seek her out tomorrow and tell her he was sorry, privately thinking all the while that it would be a something of miracle if he could somehow temper that thorny facade of Hannah’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christmas in Winden! So much fun to write! I know I kind of brushed over his first day at school, I am planning on going into more detail with his school life at some point but there was already so much going on in this chapter I didn’t have the time nor the word count to delve much deeper at this point. More Hannah in the next one, and then onward to season two! Looking at his role in that season, outside of episode six which obviously isn’t necessary at this point in the fic, he doesn’t have that many scenes in comparison to season one, so I imagine I’ll be able to cover it in a couple of chapters. I still feel a little restricted with what I can do with the characters until after that point, so things will get more interesting after that, I promise! 
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


	8. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikkel’s twelfth birthday passes by in secret and unacknowledged at the arrival of spring, and his relationship with Hannah grows ever more complex when she offers him some unsolicited advice about another Winden resident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big THANK YOU once again to 'Bubulona' and 'sealandreich' for commenting on the last chapter, and thank you for all those who left kudos <3
> 
> I think Hannah fans will like this chapter, and I’m including myself in that category lol. Enjoy :)

Chapter Eight - Secrets

_January 19th 1987_

Mikkel had sought out Hannah the very next day, and it did not come as a surprise to find that she was resolutely avoiding him. As she was a few years older, they of course shared no classes together, so his only chance at approaching her was whenever they passed each other in the school corridors at break times. But this proved to be an impossible task: wherever Hannah was, Katharina and at least one more of her cronies was too. And if he tried to catch her eye and throw her a meaningful glance as they passed, hoping she’d get the message that he needed to talk to her, she would raise her eyebrows and cast him an irritable glance, sidling even closer to Katharina or else engaging her in conversation as if she knew it would only irritate him further. In the end, he gave up: if she wanted to play games, so be it. It wasn’t his problem, and he had far more important things on his mind than placating a prickly fourteen-year-old with a bad attitude.

And so, two weeks had passed since his first day at school. Winter was here with a vengeance now, fervently ravaging the small forest town with whipping winds, endless sheets of snow and unrelenting downpours of hail and rain. The days were short and the nights were long, and Mikkel spent most of his time either at school or at home. Either way, for the most part he was alone. But that was the plan, he reminded himself: to remain inconspicuous, unnoticeable, unremarkable in every way. Who knew what the consequences of getting too involved with anything or anyone besides his own mission could have? If there was a future to go back to at all, he might have already altered it significantly. He’d watched enough movies to know as much, and the worry constantly gnawed at the back of his mind with each passing day.

And although the icy grip of mid-winter plunged the town of Winden into glacial temperatures and smeared its landscape in shades of pure ivory and steel grey, Mikkel knew that it would be all too soon before the whisper of spring arrived, bringing with it the rich palette of Winden’s blossoming flora, along with warmer weather and longer days. And that would be when he went back to those caves. If only to observe from the outskirts, at first. Work his way closer, slowly. He hoped before spring turned into summer that he would already be long gone, thirty-three years away from the Winden of 1987 as it surrounded him now.

On this particular Monday morning, Mikkel sat at the breakfast table opposite Ines, a piece of buttered toast in one hand and a mug of hot coffee in the other. Ines was watching him closely, a look of concern shaping her kind features.

‘You look tired,’ she observed, studying him carefully from across the table. ‘Are you sleeping okay?’

‘Yes,’ he said at once, keen to move the topic of conversation along. Because the truth was, his nightmares were only getting more frequent and more intense by the night. He was lucky to get three hours of sleep these days, if he could even get to sleep at all, and the evidence of this was clearly apparent on his face, in the incriminating purple shadows that lingered beneath his eyes and in the weariness that swept across his own features.

Ines raised an eyebrow and leaned across the table, placing a hand on his arm. ‘You can tell me, Michael. You can tell me if anything is troubling you.’

He looked at her, dropping his toast as his other hand tightened on his coffee mug. She was still watching him expectantly, awaiting an answer. He sighed. ‘Well… sometimes, I have… nightmares.’

‘And what are these nightmares about?’ she pressed, concern etched on her face.

‘Well… different things, really. But usually… usually I just have nightmares about… about my old life, before I came here. My family. And sometimes… sometimes they’re different, too. Darker. And I’m different too.’

Ines sighed, lightly squeezing his arm and smiling weakly. ‘Remember what I told you in the hospital, after we spoke about Daniel and my parents? The past is the past, and now is now. You need to begin to _let go_ , Michael. To try to forget. And most importantly, you need to sleep. To rest. I’m worried about you. You come home, and you never talk about school or your day. And I know it’s early days, but you never mention any friends. Never mention any of your classmates at all. As far as I know, your only friend is young Hannah. And if you don’t mind my saying, Michael, I’d be careful around her. I’m not sure she’s the best choice of friend to have.’

Mikkel whipped his eyes to meet hers at that, surprised. ‘Why? What’s wrong with Hannah?’

‘Nothing, really,’ she started, looking mildly uncomfortable, ‘I don’t know the girl that well, besides when she stops by the hospital with her father. But I knew her mother. Again, not well, but enough to know that she was a calculating young woman, back in my day. Rather sly. She was the type to lay the breadcrumbs and then slip into the shadows, quiet as a mouse, assessing how others might react to them: if they would follow the crumbs blindly, or devour them without a second’s thought. Or if they would be smart enough to assess them first, to check for any poison or some kind of trap, or even to turn their back on them altogether. No doubt her mother was a clever woman. Her father has always been a bit of a fool, far too gullible, but a good man. As I mentioned to you before, we were friends in school and remain on good terms today. But when I look at Hannah, all I can see is her mother.’

Mikkel turned over this revelation in his head, specifically over Ines’ use of the past tense when referring to Hannah’s mother, but he didn’t press the issue any further. ‘Well, I don’t think we’re friends anymore, anyway,’ he mumbled into his coffee as he took a sip. ‘I don’t think we ever were.’

‘I think that’s probably for the best. That girl’s a bad influence.’ She eyed his coffee as he drank deeply, then sighed. ‘And I think it’s best you stay home today. I want you to go back to bed and get some sleep. And if you feel up to it, come and visit me at the hospital later this afternoon. I have it on good authority that we’ll be serving that favourite lime jelly of yours as a mid-day snack.’ Her eyes glinted, and Mikkel nodded as he prepared to take another sip from his mug.

‘And,’ she continued, rising from the table and stealing the coffee mug from his hand, ‘no more coffee, decaf or otherwise. And from now on, I’ll be bringing you a hot drink to bed and staying by your side until you’ve nodded off.’

*

So he set off on his bike a few hours later under a dull, mid-afternoon sky, after a failed attempt at sleep and a day spent reading his comics or else solving the Rubik’s cube he’d got for Christmas over and over. It was a somewhat perilous journey to the hospital: the roads were slick with ice in many places, so he had to ride slower than he’d have liked and kept his eyes fixed on the path ahead of him at all times. Because of this, he hadn’t had a chance to really test out his new bike beyond the street outside the house, but it felt freeing now, exhilarating despite the slower speed to just ride and ride and let the cold winds whip through his hair and nip at his exposed cheeks.

But it was a strange feeling, returning to where his so-called new life had begun, he thought as he parked up his bike and observed the hospital’s orderly exterior. Everything seemed both familiar and yet strangely foreign at the same time. Patients in their hospital gowns hovered about the grounds, wrapped in their coats and stretching their legs or else wheeled around by one of the impatient nurses, some of whom were congregating in their usual corner for an afternoon smoke and their daily dose of inane gossip.

The scene was made stranger still as his eyes slid over his bench, the old bench which sat before the fringes of the surrounding forest, where he would while away the endless hours sat with his book, or with Ines as she sat beside him and smoked her cigarettes. Because slouched on the bench, looking as thoroughly bored as the last time he’d seen her on these same grounds, was Hannah, long brown ponytail and all. Steeling himself for Hannah’s likely wrath, he approached the bench, nerves tensing slightly at the aloof expression she dealt him when she noticed his shadow advancing across the grounds towards her.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked contemptuously, looking up at him as he paused before the bench.

Mikkel wanted to ask himself that very same question: why was he bothering to placate a very prickly Hannah? Why bother apologising to someone who clearly didn’t want to hear it? Why deviate from his plans to stay low, remain unnoticed and uninvolved? But in the end he sat on the bench beside her and said simply ‘Does it matter?’

She stiffened as he sat, resolutely avoiding his gaze. ‘You’re right, it doesn’t. I don’t care what you do or why, so just go away. Go sit somewhere else.’ And then she shifted her head to meet his eyes, casting him a withering glance. ‘I mean, you don’t want to be seen hanging around with a _bully_ , do you?’

She went back to staring off in the direction of the hospital entrance, and Mikkel sighed, deciding there and then that she could damn well have his apology whether she liked it or not. Whether she chose to except it was her problem, not his. He’d spit it out and then leave, get back to laying low. ‘I never said you were a bully, and I’m s-’

‘Oh _please_ ,’ Hannah interjected frostily before he’d barely begun. ‘I know exactly what you meant. I’m a lot of things, _Michael_ , but I’m not stupid.’ The way she lingered on his new name was taunting and laced with venom, a clear demonstration that he was no longer the curiously interesting ‘boy from the future’ to her, but just plain old Michael now.

‘I don’t remember ever calling you stupid, do you?’ he bit back. ‘And I don’t think you’re a bully, either. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, if you’ll stop breathing fire at me long enough for me to get a word in.’

She snapped her head back in his direction, eyes bright but expression derisive. ‘Go on then, _Michael_ ,’ she pushed, smiling grimly, ‘go on and explain to me why you’re so perfect and I’m just a loser who hangs on to a bully and her boyfriend because I’m too pathetic to accept that without them, I’m the biggest loser there is.’

Mikkel sighed. This was more trouble that it was worth. ‘Look, I’m sorry for being blunt with you at school that day. I know I was out of line. I don’t even really know you, and who you choose to be friends with is none of my business. And maybe you didn’t step in when you should have, but to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t going to either, so who am I to judge? Part of me just wanted to run away and let Regina deal with… with Katharina on her own. But… but I just got so angry, and… well, anyway. I’m sorry, okay?’

She was still refusing to look at him, but the ice in her expression had melted just a little. She seemed to be turning over his words in her head, and Mikkel was just about to pick himself up off the bench, satisfied he had done what he had needed and ready to head inside the hospital when she finally spoke.

‘You need to be careful with Regina.’

That was not the response he had expected. ‘Why? What makes you say that?’ He was getting quite frustrated with being told to be careful around people today. But she just turned to face him once more, her cool expression mildly tempered now, yet her eyes flashed with a hint of warning.

‘Listen, I’m doing you a favour, alright? Just… be careful. She might look and act like some innocent Virgin Mary who wouldn’t hurt a fly, but one thing you should know about Winden: everyone has their secrets. _Everyone_. And Regina’s no exception to that. And Katharina… she had her reasons for being angry with her at the lake that day. There’s things you don’t know, don’t understand yet. Katharina, she… she has her own problems. Didn’t you notice the giant bruise on her face that day? If you really look at her, it’s obvious... all the time, they’re there… the bruises, the scars, the marks. She covers them up with her makeup and her hair, but if you look… if you _really_ look, they’re there. You see them. Her mama… she has her own problems, too. And she takes them out on Katharina. All the time.’

Mikkel looked at her without really seeing her, letting her words sink in. Trying to put the pieces together to make sense of it all. But he didn’t want to think about what it all meant: he’d never met his grandmother or any of his extended family on his mother’s side, and he wondered grimly if this was why.

But Hannah was watching him closely now, and she spoke again before he could form any kind of response. ‘You know what I think, _Michael_? What I think is that you get so wrapped up in that head of yours, you forget that everyone else has their own problems to deal with. Not just you. And there’s not a lot of things I’m any good at, but one thing I can do pretty well is read people. And I can see it when I look at you: you’re always thinking, always somewhere else, never really in the moment. I noticed it the day we met, properly met, right here on this bench. And I think you’ve got a story to tell. But I stand by what I said before: if you don’t want me asking questions, then I won’t. Some things you just want to keep to yourself. And I get that.’

Mikkel assessed her curiously. He felt slightly nervous now, not only because she had seemingly read him like a book with no deliberate assent from himself, but because at some point during her speech, he had begun to slide closer to her in an effort to hang on to her every word. Mikkel glanced down at where the tips of their knees now touched, and then back to her waiting hazel eyes, still wide with warning but now dimly edged with something like coy amusement. He almost wanted to thank her, for sharing these secrets or acknowledging his desire to hold on to his own, he wasn’t sure. But that familiar blush was warming the back of his neck again, and throwing his focus back on to the matter at hand, he said, ‘but… what exactly does that have to do with Regina? I mean… none of that explains why Katharina had to take her anger out on her.’

Hannah rolled her eyes and leaned back against the bench with an irritable sigh. Her knee shifted away from his in the process, and Mikkel ignored the faint spark of disappointment he felt at that. She shoved her hands in her pockets and surveyed him with that familiar prickliness he had grown so accustomed to around her. ‘Listen kid, I sat out here for a bit of peace and quiet, not to be interrogated. You want your questions answered? Then you need to be prepared to answer some of mine. Do I need to remind you of our deal?’

Casting his mind back over a month and a half ago to their afternoon spent in his hospital bedroom, he muttered vaguely, ‘a question asked for a question answered.’

‘That’s right.’ She raised her eyebrows knowingly, but the thorniness was giving way once more to amusement, and a small smile began to play at the corners of her lips. ‘One thing I will say, though… it was very cool, what you did at the lake. Most people would’ve had the good sense to keep their mouth shut around Katharina. But still, it was cool, how you spoke up to her. Even if it _was_ for Four-Eyes Tiedemann.’

Mikkel shot her a reproachful glare at that, but she just shrugged and said, ‘sorry. Old habits.’

Mikkel observed her as he mentally reviewed his conversation with Ines earlier that morning, her warning that Hannah would be a bad choice of friend, the implication that she might be something like her mother. And then he was reminded of the mystery surrounding her mother, if she was in fact still around or not, but he thought better than to question Hannah on the subject right now, given their deal she had just put back on the table. And as he was about to study her features even more closely, to probe at his memories to see if he could light the old flame of familiarity and recognise her for the adult she would become, she turned away to stare out at the hospital grounds once more, her delicate profile seemingly lost in thought.

‘In a way, I wish I could be more like you,’ she muttered moments later, almost to herself rather than to Mikkel. ‘You’re weird and a total loner, but you don’t seem to care. It’s almost like you want it that way. I wish I could be like that. To just… not care what anyone else thinks. To not need anyone but yourself.’

Mikkel blanched. She wasn’t prickly anymore, but she wasn’t smiling either. She looked rather miserable, in fact, as she idly contemplated an old patient as he swat a couple of kids racing around the grounds with his crutches. He wondered how lonely she might truly be beneath that icy façade, and was debating whether to risk pressing her on the subject when someone called his name from across the grounds. Looking up, he found Ines was beckoning him beside the entrance to join her inside the hospital, a recognisable bowl of lime green jelly in her hands. Her eyes shifted to Hannah and her smile faltered slightly.

‘Well, it seems you’ve been summoned,’ Hannah mocked with a smirk. ‘Have fun.’

He glanced at her, feeling confused as his conflicting instincts struggled with one another, torn between wanting to race from this bench as fast as his legs could carry him and yet also wanting to sit right there beside her for just a little longer.

‘Thanks,’ he said quietly. ‘For telling me about Katharina, I mean. And for accepting my apology.’

‘I don’t remember accepting your apology at any point in our conversation, do you?’ But she was smirking all the same, and there was an authentic quality to it this time, a genuine smile of appreciation hidden beneath the teasing grin. Mikkel thought with a jolt of surprise that she looked much prettier when she really smiled. He pulled himself off the bench, more than ready now to slip out of her watchful gaze and ease the fire at the back of his neck. She eyed him appraisingly as he stood.

‘What are you staring at?’ he asked, unable to stop himself. In the back of his mind he wondered whether she might be reading him again right now, and what conclusions she might have made if she had.

‘Nothing,’ she said as she leant back on the bench with a grin, hands still stuffed in her coat pockets. ‘You just look different. Taller.’

‘Oh, right,’ Mikkel replied, feeling rather flustered. ‘Well, bye, then.’

As he turned to leave she quipped behind him, ‘and consider that yet another question answered, by the way. Which means you owe me an answer. Don’t forget, because I won’t.’

‘Bye, Hannah,’ Mikkel said, shaking his head with a mixture of amusement and exasperation as he began to walk away.

‘See you around, Michael,’ she called back at his retreating figure, and Mikkel was quite sure he could feel her eyes glued to him as he headed back across the grounds and joined Ines inside the hospital walls.

*

_March 3rd 1987_

Today was Mikkel’s twelfth birthday. Well, it had been, before he had become Michael Kahnwald, born November 5th 1975. Michael Kahnwald, who was both thirty-three years older and yet also eight months younger than Mikkel Nielsen. A new birthday to match his new identity, to help him forget his past, as Ines had reminded him. Mikkel had agreed to it because he didn’t have the energy nor the inclination to deny her, and he had supposed that if he was already expected to take on a different name, then a different birthday shouldn’t make much more of a difference. No, it was the year that bothered him. 1975. That was… forty-five years ago in his original timeline, only twelve years ago here in 1987. But for someone born in 2008, 1975 might as well have been a million years ago. Here, he was just four years younger than his own parents. He held back the nausea as he crept out of bed and stood before his bedroom mirror.

Ever since Hannah had remarked on his height a few weeks ago, he’d taken to regularly observing his reflection in his bedroom mirror, inspecting for any changes, any ways in which he might look older. Today he studied his reflection more assiduously than ever, given he was, at least biologically, another year older. Still just a little kid, as Hannah and seemingly everybody else liked to remind him, but still… you weren’t a year older every day. And as he looked back at the boy reflected before him, he thought perhaps he did look just a little taller than he had some months ago, the planes of his face perhaps just subtly sharper, maybe… the changes were slight but apparent. He observed that the shadows under his eyes were paler, fading since the nightmares had become fewer. Since Ines had taken to bringing him a hot cocoa and reading him to sleep each night. But there was no curious spark in his eyes anymore. The now fading crescents beneath them might tell one story, but the weariness and resignation in his eyes told another.

The weeks had passed by rather uneventfully: every day started with a quiet breakfast with Ines, who would subtly evaluate his appearance over her coffee or morning newspaper, thinking Mikkel didn’t notice the concerned glances she threw him. Then he would go to school on his bike, a brief respite of joy as he sailed through the streets on his wheels. And there he would remain silent and alone, never answering any questions unless asked, never offering more information than necessary lest he let something else about the future slip and afforded himself even more mystified glimpses.

He hadn’t spoken to Hannah since their conversation at the hospital: she was, as usual, always accompanied by Katharina, Ulrich or another member of their group, and Mikkel wasn’t sure if she expected him or even wanted him to approach her, if he even wanted to himself. Were they friends again now? Could he even allow himself to let anyone besides Ines into this new life? Were he and Hannah ever friends in the first place? Everything about Hannah left him feeling frustrated and confused, but one thing had changed: she no longer ignored him when they passed each other in the school corridors, and the occasional furious scowls sent in his direction had been replaced with discreet smirks behind Katharina’s back, shared glances between themselves as if they held a secret nobody else around them knew. But it never went any farther than that, and the scowls would make a temporary reappearance on the odd occasion that Hannah was present when Regina came to check on him, still making an effort to ensure he was okay.

The rest of the afternoon and evening would be spent inside the walls of the house, completing his schoolwork and then eating dinner with Ines, who would probe him unsuccessfully about his day. Then he would shower and get ready for bed before retiring to his bedroom. It was slowly beginning to feel less foreign to him now, in a way, despite the distinct lack of anything to do. He didn’t even have a TV in his bedroom, never mind a laptop or gaming console. Initially he had taken to just sitting on his bed, reading or else endlessly completing then restarting with the Rubik’s cube he always left on his bedside table. But recently, it felt as though the cogs in his brain were turning just that bit slower, and a constant fog was beginning to settle in his mind. It had become harder and harder to slot the coloured faces into their correct positions, and growing frustrated at his sudden inability to solve it, he had thrown the cube to one side a few days ago and instead looked around his room, eyes catching on the acrylic paint set Ines had bought him at Christmas and which remained untouched in the corner.

He'd pulled the paints and canvas pad toward him as he sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at the blank page before him without a clue where to start: he hadn’t painted a thing in years. In the end he just mixed the colours and slipped a few swirls and lines across the page, no plan or idea of what he was painting but just letting the brush slip across the paper as it pleased.

‘I’m happy to see you’re making use of the paint set at last,’ Ines had said with a smile later that evening as she had set down his cocoa and examined his nonsensical doodles stacked on his bedside table. ‘I think it’ll be good for you. It’s a good way to let out your emotions, manifest them into something creative and tangible. I used to do the same thing when I was a young girl, when I lost my mother. It helped me to move on.’

*

And so it was that on this Tuesday afternoon of his twelfth birthday, Mikkel now stood inside the forest, concealed behind a pine tree and studying the outline of the caves that loomed ahead of him. He had promised himself he would return when spring had fallen, and despite his every instinct screaming at him to put as much distance between himself and the caves ahead as possible, here he was: he’d forced himself to ride in the direction of the forest after school had ended for the day. He had to try again with the caves, he _had_ to. His parents nor anybody else was going to come from the future and take him back: he’d accepted that now. If he was going to stand a chance of getting home, he was going to have to walk into those caves alone, just as he’d had to walk out of them alone and without Jonas on that life-changing November morning. And though he remained determined to find a way back, some small part of that determination had dimmed, lost in the sleepy fog of his mind. If he didn’t start now, he would lose confidence in his plan, would give up altogether.

He had decided he was going to paint the caves: just sit and paint, first it’s rough, rocky outline and then it’s mouth, stretched wide and dark and inviting passers-by into the unknown. Except Mikkel _did_ know what was in there: a crossing, a way back home. He was sure of it. But he would sit and paint its exterior first, just so he could get used to being near it, to looking at it, so he could conquer the fear and nausea that swelled in his every pore whenever he came close to it.

And so he sat, cross-legged on the cold forest floor, pulled his paints and canvas paper from his backpack and got to work. The end result was barely more than indecipherable flicks and swirls of muted colour, of blacks and greys edged with the greens and browns of the forest that surrounded it, but that was no matter: he’d be back again tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, until the swirls and flicks resembled the ominous scope of the caves before him and he felt ready to take the next step. It was slow work, but progress was progress, and the haze that clouded his mind hardly allowed for him to progress much faster.

He began to collect his things a short while later, when the paint had dried and he could roll up the paper and place it in his backpack without smudging it. As he cast the caves one last glance before he turned to leave, he heard the crunch of leaves and twigs in the forest behind him.

‘What exactly are you doing?’ 

Mikkel whipped around, his heart beating frantically. But his body relaxed and he sighed with relief when he saw the figure which crept around one of the trees ahead of him.

‘Are you trying to scare me half to death? Because you’re doing a _really_ good job of it!’ he yelled, rubbing at his chest as the heart beneath began to slow its rapid beating.

Hannah smirked as she approached, eyebrows raised as she glanced at the caves behind him. ‘If I wanted to scare you to death, I’d think of a much more creative way than this, trust me. But seriously,’ she continued, throwing another dark look at the caves, ‘why are you hanging around here of all places?’

Mikkel decided that for once, honesty was the best policy here. ‘I was painting it.’

Hannah snorted. ‘Painting? Really?’

‘If you don’t believe me, I can show you the picture, but don’t expect a work of art. I’m no good at it, but I’d like to be, someday.’

Hannah shook her head and raised her hands haltingly. ‘Save yourself the bother, I really don’t care.’

She was playing her games, baiting him again, and Mikkel could feel himself rising to it beneath the fog in his head. ‘What are you doing here, anyway?’ he snapped at her.

‘Are you sure _that’s_ the question you want to waste the answer I owe you on?’

Mikkel raised an eyebrow questioningly, so she went on. ‘The hospital, remember? I still owe you an answer to one question.’

He’d forgotten about that, and he was quite sure she had answered enough of his questions to override it anyway. ‘Whatever. I’m just surprised to see you on your own, without Katharina glued to your side.’

The goading smirk instantly transformed into her usual annoyance. ‘Can’t we just have _one_ conversation without talking about Katharina or stupid Regina?’

Mikkel was rather taken aback by this, and he remained silent as Hannah walked towards him, bridging the gap between them until she was close enough that he might have been able to count the freckles on her face if he’d wanted to. ‘It surprises me as much as it might you, Michael, but I actually like spending time with you. I find you interesting, lord knows why. But it’s like having a secret nobody else knows, you and I being friends. Don’t you think?’ Mikkel watched with mild horror as she shifted closer still, the heat prickling at the back of his neck as she bent slightly, placed her lips close to his ear and whispered, ‘and don’t you dare tell anyone I said that, or I might just _actually_ have to kill you.’ Her breath tickled his ear as she spoke, and then she moved back swiftly, her usual wicked grin set clear upon her face as she folded her arms and admired the look of incredulity she had painted on his own face.

Mikkel’s head was spinning and the back of his neck was uncomfortably warm. He stammered over his next words. ‘So… so we’re friends… you and I?’

‘Friends,’ she confirmed with a grin, extending her hand. ‘But let’s keep it between you and me, this friendship. I like it better that way.’

Mikkel nodded as he took her hand in his. He marvelled that despite his younger years, her hand appeared rather small even in his. And perhaps this could work, he thought as he shook it. He had to lay low, avoid any relationships wherever possible, and he was considered such a strange and silent kid at school that he needn’t have had to try to accomplish that anyway. But if Hannah didn’t want to bring attention to their friendship either, then perhaps it was worth a try. It would be worth it to have another friend in Hannah, even if Ines had advised against such a thing that morning a few weeks ago.

After they’d solidified their friendship with a handshake, they retreated back into the forest as they began their respective journeys home, remaining mostly silent as Mikkel listened to the crunch of twigs and leaves underfoot, his head still spinning despite the fog. Not long before they split off in their opposing directions, Hannah glanced at him and said, ‘maybe one day, if you ever get any good at the whole painting thing, you could paint me.’ Her tone was mocking, but when Mikkel glanced at her, he was surprised to find that she was smiling. And once again it had that rare, sincere quality to it, a genuine smile that lit her delicate pale face and freckled features in such a pleasant way he found that he had to look away.

*

As he lay in bed on that eve of his twelfth birthday, waiting for Ines to arrive with a mug of hot cocoa and a book, he stared at the ceiling above, wondering… wondering if he parents were celebrating his birthday without him, still hoping he might come home. Or whether it had simply gone unacknowledged altogether… He missed his parents so much, it pained his heart to think about them. He missed the security he felt in his papa’s presence, always willing to let him get away with things his mama would never permit: _‘Don’t tell your mother,’_ he would say with a grin. And he missed the safety of his mother’s arms, a warm and comforting refuge from the harsh realities of the world, the pains of growing up. He even missed Martha’s ridiculous strops about world hunger, or the sharp whip of Magnus’ hand on the back of his head. He missed their smiles and the sound of their laughter. And as he listened to the creak of footsteps on the stairs in the too-quiet house as Ines made her way to his room, he decided. He decided he would try to paint them one day soon too, to memorialise them in some way, just in case… just in case he couldn’t get back. He would paint them as well as his feeble skills would allow, before the memories of their faces as he remembered them faded entirely from his mind for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go! I will be taking us into season 2 next chapter. It was really fun to explore Mikkel’s relationship with Hannah further, and I enjoy the complexity behind it (I don’t know if I’m just making my job at writing this fic harder by doing so but I’ve read enough books to know I enjoy a complex relationship with a slow burn but a worthy payoff). These two can’t decide if they like or hate each other already lol. But all in good time, my friends, all in good time... 
> 
> Please leave me a comment or drop me some kudos if you enjoyed, I put a lot of hours into this fic and it means so much to me! <3
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


	9. Brushes, Birthdays and Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikkel and Hannah eavesdrop on a conversation between two significant people in both of their lives, a transformed Regina invites Mikkel for coffee with herself and Aleksander, and on his mother's birthday he comes face to face once more with an old acquaintance who not so long ago haunted his nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is up a bit later than planned guys. I’ve got a lot on at the moment: I’m preparing a move to a flat in central London by the end of the year, and at the moment I live alone and own my property so it’s a huge undertaking to get everything sorted and ready. 
> 
> When my studies start back up after next week, I’ll probably only be able to post one new chapter a week, unfortunately. Initially twice a week was doable but my chapters have been getting longer than I originally planned, and the workload will be too heavy on top of all my other commitments to give this story the dedication I think it deserves. Hopefully people will still be interested in following the fic, please add it to your subscriptions if you can so you don’t forget about it!
> 
> Thanks once again to the incredible 'Bubulona' and 'eitokus' for your amazing comments <3
> 
> Happy reading! :)

Chapter Nine – Brushes, Birthdays and Betrayal

_March 24 th 1987 _

As winter moved into spring, Winden’s landscape had become a richer palette of colour as the layers of frost melted, the trees of the forest became dense and green once more and the gardens outside of the homes lining the streets began to bloom weakly with varying shades of flora. Since their encounter outside the caves three weeks ago, he and Hannah had spent only three afternoons together, of which mainly consisted of an hour or two beside the lake in Mikkel’s favourite secluded nook: he would paint while Hannah sat lazily beside him, listening to his Walkman or else complaining about school and Winden and anything else she could think of to criticise, occasionally taking a break to dip her toes in the water and crack a teasing joke at Mikkel’s expense. But Mikkel enjoyed their time together all the same: he was more than happy to let her do most of the talking, quite content to half-listen as he focused on his painting. It kept his mind from his own thoughts, allowed him to focus through the ever pressing fog in his brain, and when she teased him, her mischievous grin would slip into another one of her sincere smiles, as though to silently remind him that it was all in good fun, no harm intended. Moreover, they had stuck to their original deal, and avoided any and all personal questions. When Mikkel had suggested they spend more than one afternoon a week together, however, Hannah had flat-out rebuffed the idea.

‘We’re neighbours,’ Hannah had explained warily on their second hangout after school, ‘Katharina and I. So if she’s not hitching a ride with Ulrich or my dad can’t drive us home in his work van, we ride home together. I have to time it right – if she notices I’m ditching her to disappear somewhere else and I don’t tell her where I’m going, she’s bound to get suspicious. And besides,’ she’d added with a wry grin, looking over her shoulder from where she sat with her legs dangling over the lake’s edge, ‘she’s still my best friend. Don’t get _too_ self-important: I still like her more than you.’ And then she had beamed at him coyly, and Mikkel had simply shook his head, fighting off his own grin as he’d turned back to his painting and trying to ignore that all too familiar flush at the back of his neck.

Today was a Tuesday afternoon: the sun cast a weak, buttery glow in a pale blue sky lined with fluffy grey clouds that looked more than eager to release a heavy downpour later that day. Hannah was lying on the grassy floor, back resting against a log, the Rubik’s cube Mikkel had received for Christmas wrapped in her small hands. She was wearing a frustrated expression as she twisted its coloured faces over and over with little success.

‘How do you even _do_ these things?’ she lamented furiously. ‘They’re impossible!’

‘Nothing’s impossible,’ Mikkel said quietly, staring at his half-finished painting of the lake but thinking instead of the caves far behind him in the woods.

Hannah sat up with an irritable sigh. ‘You do it then, if you’re so smart.’

Mikkel set down his paintbrush and reached for the colourful cube in her outstretched hand. Just as he was about to take it from her, however, two low voices could be heard approaching just a short distance away, at the southern side of the lake in the opposite direction to the forest. Mikkel and Hannah shared a panicked glance, before Mikkel snatched up their things and Hannah grabbed at his hand and pulled him behind the tall brush of grass to their left, which normally helped to conceal their hiding spot from view. Hannah sat cross-legged with Mikkel bent and hovering above her, peering over the thick edges of grass, attempting to listen over the sounds of their jagged breathing as the voices approached and became louder, clearer.

‘… like the greasy snake he is. My mama always said letting a woman take over the plant was a bad idea, and for once in my life I agree with her. Not that it made a difference – I told her she was right about Mrs. Tiedemann, but she hit me anyway.’

It was Katharina, followed closely by a gangly Ulrich, who was sporting his usual leather jacket and a look of concern reserved only for her, it seemed: Mikkel had avoided his teenaged parents at all costs since their last encounter at the lake, but he’d caught them with Hannah in the school corridors often enough. He’d established a similar routine to what he’d had with the bathroom in the Kahnwald house: if he avoided looking at them, perhaps they would just cease to exist. At least for Mikkel. They sat before him now, however, on the now vacant log, Ulrich brushing a hair from Katharina’s face to examine what Mikkel could only assume was a fresh, purpling bruise now blossoming across her skin.

‘She’s mad – Mrs. Tiedemann, I mean,’ Katharina continued with an ill-tempered sigh, ‘letting that madman work there. She’s over her head with that job. I’ll bet that’s the only reason he went after Regina in the first place, to get a job at the plant. Although, I wouldn’t be surprised if he threatened Mrs. Tiedemann with that gun of his and just _forced_ her to employ him. And if she’s even half as pathetic as her freak of a daughter is, she probably didn’t put up much of a fight.’

Ulrich let his fingers fall through a lock of Katharina’s blonde hair before pulling a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his jacket pocket. He handed one to her, lighting it before lighting his own and taking a deep, indulgent drag, staring out across the expanse of the still lake and the surrounding forest. ‘Forget about Aleksander. He’s Regina’s problem. And her workaholic mother’s. Not yours. Not anymore. If he ever threatens either of us again, I’ll be ready.’

Katharina cast him a wry glance as she took a drag from her own cigarette. ‘It’s not lost on me, you know,’ she said quietly. ‘Regina, I mean. She looks… different now. Like she finally looked in a mirror and picked up a lipstick rather than a book. And she looks… pretty.’ She grimaced, as though such a private yet backhanded compliment about Regina had caused her some sort of physical pain, before continuing. ‘ _Very_ pretty. Even some of the boys that used to tease her have noticed. I hear them through the girls’ bathroom, sometimes, when I’m alone and trying to cover whatever fresh bruise my mama gave me that day. I can hear them in the boys’ toilets next door, talking about her. About how _hot_ she is now. About all the things they’d like to do to Four-Eyes Tiedemann these days, and they’re not talking about flushing her glasses down the toilet and locking her in the janitor’s closet anymore. Well, not unless she’s locked in there with one of them.’

Ulrich dragged his eyes from the ripple of sunlight dancing across the surface of the lake, peering down at Katharina searchingly. ‘I know,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I hear them. Why are you telling me this, though?’

Katharina looked away from him, staring out across the lake nervously. ‘Would you? I mean, would you ever… _go_ for Regina? Now she’s… changed? Do you… have you ever talked about her like that with any of the boys?’

Ulrich chuckled darkly, then pressed a light hand to her face and forced her to meet his eyes once more. ‘I can’t believe you’re even asking me that. I hate her. I _hate_ her for what she did to me, what she did to _you_. She got me locked in a prison cell thanks to her lies. She got you… she got you hurt. She could be the hottest girl on the planet and I wouldn’t touch her. Not after what she did to me, what she did to you, to us. Never.’

Katharina appeared relieved, however much she tried to disguise it. ‘Of course, you’re right. I’m being stupid. As if you’d ever go near that shit-stirring freak. It’s just… sometimes it’s hard, you know, when I look in the mirror and see what my mama does to me… and I wonder why you want to be with me, sometimes.’

Ulrich stroked her hair again and rested a hand on her cheek. ‘I don’t care about any of that. You’re beautiful. The bruises just make you more so. They show me you’re strong.’ Katharina smiled lightly and took another drag of her cigarette.

‘As if Regina would ever go near you or any other boy at school, anyway. She’s obsessed with that gun-toting slimeball. And they deserve each other. But they’ll get what’s coming to them, one day. Both of them will, I’ll make sure of it.’ She sighed and tossed her cigarette. ‘I guess that just leaves Hannah and her pitiful little crush on you, and well, let’s face it, she’s not exactly competition, is she?’ She grinned slyly as Ulrich shook his head with faint amusement.

‘She’s my friend, Katharina. That’s all she’s ever been. All she ever will be.’

‘And she’s my friend too. And I do care about her, and I know she’d never do anything to betray me, she’s too loyal. But I’m not blind. She follows you around like a puppy. She always wants to talk about you with me when you’re not around. It’s almost funny. I think she’s been in love with you since we were little kids, since the day you let us ride around on your scooter outside your house all those years ago.’

Ulrich grinned roguishly. ‘Shut up, Katharina,’ he said, and threw his cigarette to the side before taking her face in his hands and kissing her gently. ‘I love _you._ ’

When they pulled apart, Katharina whispered ‘I love you, too,’ and their lips met again, this time with much more intensity. Mikkel had to look away when Ulrich began to take off his jacket and Katharina slid off her own, fingering the edges of her shirt as if to pull it up and over her head. Ulrich scanned around them, as if to ensure they were alone.

Mikkel was starting to feel very, very uncomfortable, and he had to get away, _now_. It was like some bizarre deja vu. He recalled a memory with a sickening jolt as it formed through the now constant fog of his mind: the last time he’d almost walked in on his parents about to have sex, that day last summer when he’d been sick with rubella and put a stop to their shenanigans before they could even begin. He glanced down at Hannah, who still sat cross-legged beneath him: but she was only looking at the couple intently, her face awash with both burning anger and curiosity. But she didn’t look like she planned on making an escape any time soon. Mikkel briefly wondered what she had made of the conversation they had just overheard: he’d been so consumed in his own observations he hadn’t stopped to think how she might feel about what had transpired, what had been said about her. But there was no time for that: he was going to have to get away _now_ , with or without her.

Just as he was about to brace himself to make a run for it however, hoping that Ulrich and Katharina would be too consumed in each other to notice his escape, light footsteps could be heard approaching the scene. The brush stirred in a gentle breeze as Ulrich and Katharina paused, suddenly privy to the threat of interruption as well. Katharina let go of the edges of her shirt and reached for her jacket as Ulrich placed a finger to his lips, listening.

A few seconds later, a small figure rounded the corner, with strawberry blonde hair and a sketch pad clasped in her hands. She was staring intently at the ground, as though looking for something.

‘Charlotte?’ Katharina said with surprise as Ulrich shrugged on his jacket. ‘What are you doing here?’

The girl named Charlotte jumped about six feet in the air when she realised she had an audience. ‘Oh, hello, Katharina,’ she said when she’d recovered, although she still looked rather nervous. ‘I’m just… walking. I’ve been drawing,’ she added, pointing to her sketchpad with her free hand.

Katharina and Ulrich shared a bewildered glance, before Ulrich angled his head at Katharina in a silent suggestion that they leave. ‘Um, right…’ Katharina started, lifting herself up off the log, ‘well, see you around then.’

Charlotte watched as the pair vanished in the direction of the forest, Katharina throwing her a suspicious glance over her shoulder as she went. Then she cast her eyes to the ground as though in search of something. Her eyes widened slightly as she approached a shadowed mass on the floor, concealed amongst the grass: it looked to Mikkel to be a dead animal of some sort. She picked up a nearby stick and prodded it, rolling it over as though inspecting it for something. What she was looking for, Mikkel couldn’t hazard a guess, and after a few moments she seemed to decide there was nothing of interest about this particular dead animal, and she tossed the stick aside and continued walking, sketchpad clasped firmly in her hands as she went.

A few seconds later she disappeared out of sight, and the small stretch of land beside the lake was silent once more. Mikkel and Hannah looked at each other, rooted to the spot within the tall brush, dumbfounded.

*

_May 5 th 1987 _

It had been a few weeks since the encounter at the lake and six months since he’d travelled back in time. Spring was not far from becoming summer, and Mikkel was becoming increasingly nervous.

Although he’d been fully committed to his plan to paint and then scope out the caves over the last few weeks, somewhere along the way he’d begun to lose his conviction. It was as though he had begun to live in a constant state of disconnect, the fog in his brain becoming more and more dense with each passing day. He was lethargic and losing motivation, so mid-way through last month he had refrained from visiting the caves, neither to scope nor paint. Instead he’d taken to biking straight home, forcing himself through his schoolwork and making himself swallow his dinner before heading to his room. There, he’d paint and paint: Ines had already had to restock his set and procure some more paper for him. And he had to admit to himself, he was getting rather good already, and he enjoyed it: perhaps there had been a sprinkle of truth to what Ines had said about it being a creative outlet for emotion. But his primary goal in improving his art skills was no longer founded in it simply being a conduit for his feelings, nor in that it allowed him to adjust to the caves’ menacing presence, since he no longer visited them at all. No, his primary goal for practicing his painting was so he would one day be able to paint his family, to create a tangible memory so he would never forget. He didn’t even have a photo of them, no way to remember them as he had once known them: and he wanted a way to do just that. He refused to acknowledge the small part of him that seemed to whisper in his ear, seemed to taunt him, to divulge in him through the heavy fog that surely this meant he had given up on ever getting back, already committed himself to a life here, a life with Ines as his mother and his parents as his peers.

At school, he was still managing to stay under the radar more or less, but he was beginning to draw more attention to himself, completely unintentionally: just yesterday he had nodded off at his desk, so overwhelmed with fatigue despite getting over eight hours of nightmare-free sleep the night before. His teacher had called him out on it in front of the class, which had afforded him quite a few suppressed sniggers and a threat of detention should it happen again. And now, Regina had cornered him in the school corridor and stood before him, a look of concern and a glimmer of hurt etched on her face.

Mikkel had been discreetly avoiding Regina since overhearing Katharina and Ulrich at the lake. He knew it wasn’t fair, that he’d be better served to actually go and speak to Regina about what he’d heard, but for whatever reason, he found he couldn’t: be it nerves, be it his constant fatigue, be it his fruitless yet remaining conviction to avoid getting too involved in the lives of others here in the 80s. But he hadn’t been able to stop himself from replaying the conversation in his mind, the mention of Regina’s boyfriend, who he had already made acquaintances with, and who apparently possessed a gun… and that perhaps Regina had told a lie, started a rumour that had got Ulrich locked in a cell and awarded Katharina with a fresh black eye. This was news to him, of course: he had never known these scandalous secrets about his own parents, never deigned to think about it until he’d been forced to. And he was beginning to question whether he had ever really known his parents at all.

His experience was a unique one: what son or daughter could say they personally knew their own parents when they were the same age as themselves? But they were so different, so completely and inconceivably different to the parents he had known, that it was growing harder by the day to concede that these two troubled teenagers were his parents at all. Could he be mistaken? No, of course not… he had enough grasp of his own reality to know where he was and what had happened, brain fog or not. But it was admittedly much easier to just forget who they were really were. Who Regina really was. Who Hannah really was, although he’d not quite put his finger on that yet. It was much easier to try and not think so much at all: he’d been doing too much thinking these last six months, and it had got him absolutely nowhere.

So while he knew he should make an effort to hear Regina’s side of things, instead he had taken to keeping an eye out for her in the corridors and slipping out of sight whenever he saw her. And while he might’ve been avoiding Regina, it seemed Hannah was also now avoiding him too. Again. It wasn’t lost on him, the way Katharina and Ulrich had spoken about Hannah: they had mentioned her harbouring some feelings for Ulrich, had mentioned she wasn’t worthy competition for his affections. He didn’t know how he felt about it all: it must have been a sting for Hannah to hear her best friends speak of her in that way, and some part of him wanted to feel stung himself. Be angry or upset that perhaps Hannah was using him only to distract herself from Ulrich, perhaps had never truly wanted to be his friend at all. All signs pointed that way given her sudden refusal to acknowledge his presence at all since that day, with neither a passing scowl nor smile in the school corridors. When he’d asked her what all that was about that day, straight after Katharina, Ulrich and Charlotte had vanished from the scene and they’d arose from their hiding place amongst the brush, Hannah had merely offered him an impassive half-glance and told him that perhaps it would be best if they didn’t hang out for a while. Then she’d ran off, leaving Mikkel completely alone.

And to top it all off, even Ines had been acting somewhat strangely: she seemed pleased to see he was getting more sleep, that his nightmares were now fewer, but there was a nervous edge to her, as though sometimes she would struggle to meet his eyes, especially if she asked if he’d like to do something together over the weekend and he complained he was too tired. But she never pushed, not like she would have before. But those tentative looks over her morning coffee persisted.

And so now here he was, terribly lonely and starving for companionship, having come so close only to have seemingly lost it all already. And here before him stood Regina, so ready and willing to provide him with that companionship, yet still he felt unable to accept it. He thought about how Hannah had said he seemed to want to be a loner, to avoid any relationships with others. She could never know how wrong she truly was.

Regina brought him back to reality as she peered at him. ‘Michael, have you been avoiding me? I haven’t seen you for ages!’

He forced himself to really meet those anxious eyes, and felt a shock of disbelief as he considered the girl before him: the thick-rimmed spectacles were gone, her light blue eyes no longer magnified, yet still round with concern. Subtle layers of mascara appeared to coat her lashes, which were long and left delicate shadows across the tops of her cheekbones. There was a pale rose blush to her cheeks which faintly resembled the glow of her cheeks that day at the lake, when Katharina had tore at her book and made unsavoury comments about her relationship with Aleksander. Mikkel could only assume it was makeup that had created the flush of colour this time. Her lips were full and slick with nude gloss, and her wild curls had been tamed, straightened and styled so that the ends fell past her shoulders and wisps of her fringe framed her face. The warming weather had seen the sweaters and layers discarded, replaced today with a baby-blue cotton blouse that hitched at the waist, the strips of fabric hanging over the belt of her high-waisted jeans drawing attention to the hint of bare skin between her blouse and her jeans.

She looked different. _Very_ different. Katharina had been right about that, it seemed. And he was unnerved to find that he could understand why perhaps Katharina had quizzed Ulrich on his possibly shifting opinion of Regina: on whether he might be attracted to her, hatred or not.

Regina pressed on in response to his stunned silence. ‘I overheard in the bathroom earlier… well, some of the girls, they were… they mentioned you’d fallen asleep in your lesson yesterday. Is everything okay?’

Mikkel arranged his features in what he hoped was a casual expression, hoping she hadn’t notice the look of astonishment he was sure his face had betrayed as he’d registered her new look. ‘I just… I just had a bad night’s sleep on Sunday, that’s all. School work and everything, you know… nothing to worry about though. I promise.’

Regina gave him a knowing glance, and sighed as she placed a hand on his arm. Mikkel tried not to acknowledge the sudden contact or the feel of her hand there. ‘If you need to talk, Michael, I’m here, you know. Or if you need any… well, any male advice, _older brotherly_ advice even, Aleksander would be more than happy to step in and lend a listening ear if you need it. He’s got his own place in Winden now. It’s not the best, but… it’s his, and I’m there quite a lot. Why don’t you come by with me one day soon? We could all have a coffee and you and Alex could have a chance to get to know each other? You know, he’s as lonely as… well, as we are. He doesn’t really have any friends in Winden yet, and all I have is him… and you. It would be nice… to spend an afternoon together.’

That was the last thing he needed, Mikkel thought as he hesitated under her hopeful glare. What if there was any truth to what Katharina and Ulrich had said, what Hannah had said? _Everyone has secrets, and Regina’s no exception_ she had said. And a gun? But at the same time… this was an offer of companionship from a friend, from Regina. She’d just said as much, and she had given him no reason to doubt her thus far, rumours or not. He’d be a fool to take rumours with anything more than a pinch of salt until he was presented with evidence to prove them. And this would be a perfect opportunity to do so, to form his own opinions on Regina and her mysterious boyfriend, a fellow new Winden resident. A new resident in a town where it seemed visitors never stayed for long, and where long-time residents never left. But still… he would be alone… and if there _was_ any truth to the rumours… would it be safe? And was it wise to go ahead and get more involved in these people’s lives, when he’d already renewed his mission to avoid relationships with them at all costs, despite how lonely it made him feel?

In the end he just gave her a shallow nod, but Regina simply beamed before hugging him and disappearing down the corridor, adjusting her hair rather than her glasses as she left this time.

*

_June 22 nd 1987 _

Mikkel woke up from a nightmare this morning. They were fewer, but not eradicated, and today he had good reason to be anxious.

Today was his mama’s birthday.

He tried to cast his mind back, tried to think how old she would be today. In 2020… she would be fifty. A significant birthday, another year older and wiser. Here, in 1987… she would be seventeen. Barely more than a kid, a kid that was seemingly very angry with the world around her.

He looked around his room, at the posters on the wall and the comics beside his bed, sighing as he slid his feet on the floor, feeling utterly miserable.

Ines noticed his misery as he descended the stairs that morning, sporting an outfit he once thought he’d never be caught dead in: a colourful shirt patterned with tennis rackets and tennis balls, the shortest shorts he’d ever laid eyes on and, worst of all, long white socks and sandals. He looked like one of the kids he’d once laughed at in photos his parents had shown him in old photo albums. Adjusting to the garish and peculiar fashion of the 80s was still a process with which he was navigating.

When Ines had assumed his look of despair was simply at the prospect of going to school, he'd been unable to stop himself from revealing that today was his mother’s birthday. And then she’d taken his face in her hands and reminded him gently of the phrase she seemed to live by: _the past is the past and now is now._ And feeling unable to broach the topic any further, he let her lead him from the house and drive him to school.

*

Nausea welled in his stomach as he approached the familiar building and assessed all of his fellow students, the adults he had once known, the ghosts of his teachers and doctors and his former friends’ parents.

A tall figure shoved him as she passed, and he was alarmed to find his mother glaring back at him, a brand new bruise blooming and glaringly obvious across her eye. ‘Out of my way, douchebag!’ she spat at him, looking more ill-tempered then he’d ever seen her before. In a way, he couldn’t blame her: if what he’d heard about her mother was true, it seemed she had given Katharina a rather awful birthday gift indeed.

But it still stung. Still pained his heart. As he watched her walk away miserably, he caught sight of Hannah, hanging back and watching him, a curious and unreadable look on her face as she surveyed him. He met her eyes and hoped she would recognise his silent plea for help, understand that he needed a friend now more than ever.

But Katharina called her over, and Mikkel watched as Hannah ran to meet Katharina’s side once more, and as the signal for the start of classes echoed across the grounds, Mikkel turned and headed off in the opposite direction, a blend of nausea and disappointment merging into a sharp sense of misery as he left the school behind.

*

An hour later, and Mikkel was wandering around the fields and woods, a stick he’d found now gripped in his hand as he cut a path with it through the grass.

Why did Katharina hate him? Why did _his mother_ hate him, he reminded himself. Would she ever stop hating him? Would he ever learn more about what her life was before him, about why she was so angry with the world, so full of hate? He knew now, of course, that it had something to do with her mother… the grandmother he had never known… that there was abuse. And that made him feel sick. But a part of him wanted to learn more. To understand _why._

And then there was Hannah, who after weeks and weeks of ignoring him without any explanation had now acknowledged his presence again, and had refused him when he needed her most. He’d thought they’d mastered their silent conversations by now, thought his eyes had conveyed the message that he was scared, but she either hadn’t noticed or just hadn’t cared. Mikkel wacked a tall blade of grass with extra force as he walked on.

After a few more minutes of ruminating over the mess that his life had become, a sudden groan pulsed in the distance, from the direction of the caves. The breeze stirred his hair as he paused, listening. And then he ran.

He ran and ran until he’d stopped before the mouth of the cave, staring into that endless, unyielding darkness within. His heart raced and his head spun as he caught his breath, sweat clinging to his skin.

‘Shouldn’t you be at school?’

Mikkel spun, his heart in his mouth as he searched for the source of that familiar voice. His eyes landed on a dark figure a short distance away, a figure dressed in dark attire and sat on a broken tree trunk beside the cave, casually peeling an apple. There was a blade in his hand and a glint in his eye. His heart resumed its rapid pace when he realised why the voice had been so familiar. He recognised this man.

He was the priest that had read to him in the hospital, the man who not long ago had haunted his nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, lots to cover in the next chapter because I really want to wrap up season 2! I don’t know why, but I struggled a bit with this chapter, more so than any other so far. I feel like that might be evident in my writing. I think I’m just having a bout of brain fog like Mikkel despite all my ideas, that or I’ve just got a lot of other things on my mind that are impeding on my focus a fair bit. But I promise I’m still dedicated to telling Mikkel’s story and I’ll get over it soon enough! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


	10. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikkel ponders his purpose in life, comes face to face with his unrecognisable past and almost makes it back to the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, sorry this one is up a day late. Life and all that. Unfortunately from now on I’m going to stick with one chapter a week just because I’m so busy, BUT they will be lengthy (my average word count over the last few chapters is over 4,500 words, so they’ll be around this, perhaps longer). And I will continue to put a lot of time, effort and love into telling Mikkel’s story. I was debating just shortening the chapters and still posting twice a week but I like the format I have now and I’ll think it’ll work better for me for the foreseeable future. Time permitting I might still occasionally post a chapter twice a week but for now expect only one. 
> 
> My plan is to upload every Sunday. Please subscribe to the fic to be notified of when a new chapter is up if you can!
> 
> And now I'll shut up. Happy reading! :)

_June 22 nd 1987_

Mikkel realised he’d stopped breathing, and gulped down as much air as his weak lungs would allow following his race to the cave.

The dark priest rose swiftly from the broken tree trunk, unhurried and easy as he swept towards him, half an apple in one hand, the blade glinting in the early morning sunlight in the other.

‘I know you,’ Mikkel murmured anxiously, wringing his hands to calm his nerves. ‘You were in the hospital.’

The priest paused like a shadow before him, scanning the caves behind Mikkel with eyes so brilliantly blue they resembled chips of gleaming diamond reflecting the clear summer sky above. They made Mikkel feel very uncomfortable, and he wondered how he had never noticed them before.

‘I like coming here,’ the strange man said quietly, finally bringing his attention back to Mikkel. ‘Special place… so… why aren’t you at school?'

Mikkel just stared into those shocking eyes, unable to do anything other than take shallow breaths through a throat that felt like a thin plastic straw. The priest’s gaze was alarmingly intense, and Mikkel cast his mind back to many months ago, when he was still a nameless patient in the hospital. He thought about how the man had behaved as though he had all the world’s secrets at his fingertips, and Mikkel could barely deign to doubt it under his powerful stare.

At his answering silence, the priest pierced the skin of the apple with the glimmering blade and began slicing languidly, as though nothing about this impromptu meeting before the caves was in any way peculiar. As though they might have been old friends who happily happened upon each other on a morning stroll through the woods. He carved a piece of apple with the knife and ate it, a faint smile hidden beneath his lips as he chewed.

‘I see,’ he whispered when he’d finished. ‘Sometimes we don't really know where we're supposed to be.’ He pointed the glittering blade toward the mouth of the caves, sparkling blindingly as it swallowed the sun’s rays. Mikkel had begun to breathe more heavily as the straw that was his throat loosened. The priest moved closer still, a dark apparition so juxtaposed in the bright, verdant forest with its soft and lush hues. ‘It’s a maze in there,’ he continued, voice almost a whisper. ‘Some have never returned.’ He flicked the blade shut inside its handle and turned away, leaving his ominous words hanging sharply in the air as he began walking into the shadow of the trees.

Mikkel watched as the dark figure began to retreat, and he deigned to ask a question that had been bothering him for some time now. Perhaps as early as their first meeting at his hospital bedside.

‘In the hospital, you said something,’ he said quietly, the priest pausing at his words. ‘The thing about God, and that he has a plan for everyone.’ The man turned, those bright blue eyes meeting Mikkel’s once more, a delicate grin playing on his lips. Mikkel forced himself onward. ‘But what if God has no idea what he's doing? If the plan is wrong?... If God is mistaken?’

The priest strolled back toward him and peered closely, those eyes as blazing and intense as the secrets Mikkel was quite sure they held. ‘God doesn't make mistakes,’ he muttered darkly. ‘Sometimes we have to have more faith that everything will be okay again.’

Mikkel watched wordlessly as the man turned away once more, barely daring to breathe and clutching at the straps of his backpack as the man tossed the remainder of his apple to the side and withdrew back into the forest. Mikkel shuddered beneath the cold breeze the retreating figure seemed to leave in his wake, then turned once more to face the infinite gloom of the caves’ entrance.

And with a heart as heavy as the looming shadows ahead, he walked away from the darkness that held his only hope of escape, and stumbled back into the now silent, deserted forest, as alone within these trees as he was alone within this world.

*

He spent the rest of the day wandering the maze of moss and branches inside the forest, until he reached the fields and came across a tall, wooden hunting stand overlooking the trees. He climbed the rickety ladder and settled himself down on the floor. It was there he watched as the morning slipped into afternoon and afternoon slipped into early evening. He tried to distract himself with the schoolbooks, the comics and the Walkman he pulled from his backpack, but his mind would only wander again and again to his earlier conversation with the dark priest. As the sky purpled and night approached, he headed back home, every faint whisper of noise drawing his attention like a prey evading its predator.

*

When he finally arrived home, Ines leapt from the kitchen table and enveloped him in a warm hug. She smelled strongly of tobacco and Mikkel could only assume that she had been smoking cigarette after cigarette as a result of her worrying about his whereabouts.

‘Where have you been?’ she exclaimed, stroking his back, his hair, as if savouring the tangibility of him within her arms. ‘I was so worried.’ She leaned back slowly, peering at him with concerned eyes. ‘I called the school. They said you never showed up.’ She gently cupped his face in her hands. ‘Did something happen?’

Mikkel could only answer with his customary silence. He was tired, confused and lost. And what was the point in explaining anything to Ines? Surely she would say what she always said _: the past is the past, and now is now_. There would be no more to be said. As much as Mikkel knew Ines cared for him deeply, his past was forever the elephant in the room, an elephant that was pushed and shoved further and further into a dark corner with each passing day, until one day it would be pushed so far into that corner it would simply be swallowed up by the shadows and cease to exist. Forgotten.

Ines sighed and pulled away, hands now pressed to his shoulders. ‘You know what? There are days it’s just best to forget.’ _There it was_ , Mikkel thought. _It’s best to just forget._

She slipped away and headed towards the kitchen cupboards, pulling out a can of pineapples as Mikkel moved further into the room and paused beside the table. A collection of cigarettes butts had amassed in the ash tray, which usually remained relatively empty: Ines had tried to smoke outside as often as possible since Mikkel had arrived, forever determined to discourage him from such a bad habit.

‘There's no better comfort food than "Toast Hawaii”,’ she said with a smile, showing him the can before meeting him beside the table. ‘We always had it at home when I was little, with two maraschino cherries. And my dad used to dance, like Elvis.’ She laughed lightly and placed the can on the table.

It was true, true that he couldn’t broach the subject of what had happened today, who he had met once more and the relevance of this meeting on his past, his plans and his ponderings. But there was something that had dogged his thoughts throughout the day that he felt, perhaps, he could put to Ines. That might help him make sense of things just that little bit more. When Ines’ laughter had fallen silent, he asked quietly, ‘Do you believe in God?’

Ines paused, surveying him as she lingered on the question, seemingly deciding whether to be truthful with him or not. After a few silent moments, she simply nodded. ‘Mmhmm.’

‘Do you believe he has a plan for us?’ Mikkel prodded.

Ines hesitated, then said, ‘I believe... he does. I believe, for example, that God saw to it that you came to me. And that his plan for me is… to be there for you.’ She placed her hands on his shoulders once more and sighed. ‘Right, let's make "Toast Hawaii," okay?’

And this meant _no more questions_ , that it was time to move on. But Mikkel was satisfied enough: he had an answer. He watched as she went back to the kitchen cupboards, rifling through the drawers for the can opener. He thought about what she had said: that God’s plan for him was to come to Ines, for her to be there for him. He thought about Daniel, and how lonely Ines must have been these last few years. He thought about how curious it was that of all the nurses, all the people in Winden, it should be her that found him, that took him under her wing. He thought about how the strange priest had said that God doesn’t make mistakes, and that we should have more faith that everything will be okay. 

It was true that he was still hesitant to believe in any God. But to draw comfort from the idea itself, at least, felt reassuring. To draw comfort from both the words of the priest and of Ines, the woman who had already sacrificed so much to allow him some sense of normalcy here in the 1980s, saved him from a future far more uncertain at the children’s home. The soothing thoughts eased some of the fears and doubts that had grown and festered like a cancer in his brain for the last seven months.

He walked towards where she bent over the kitchen drawer, still rifling through its contents for the can opener. She paused as she glanced towards him, expression uncertain, as though perhaps she feared he might get angry, or else cry. But instead he wrapped his arms around her middle, enveloping her in a hug of his own. He was so very grateful for Ines, he realised profoundly, as she sighed and sank with relief beneath him.

*

The sky outside had darkened from a deep purple to an ink-stained blue by the time the Toast Hawaii was ready. Mikkel sat at the table with a glass of orange juice as Ines flittered around the kitchen, and he laughed whenever she performed a silly little dance as she worked. Elvis was warbling from the radio on the kitchen counter. And it was nice, to just laugh, _really_ laugh. But later that evening, as he lay in bed, the world was silent once more. No Elvis, no laughter. Just the gentle brush of leaves on the tree outside his window, a softly swaying silhouette behind the curtain as the branches cut across the milky moonlight. And as Mikkel let the lull of sleep consume him, his final thoughts were of the shadowy silhouette he thought he’d seen outside the window downstairs as he ate his toast, as though someone had been outside, watching him. Had it been God?

*

_June 23 rd 1987_

Ines had allowed Mikkel to remain home for the rest of the school term. There were only four days left, after all, and it seemed his impromptu digression from his daily routine and subsequent foray into the forest had elevated her fears enough to permit him to stay safe and secure within the wooden walls of the Kahnwald house. He didn’t have to see a teenaged Katharina and Ulrich and Regina again for an entire summer, not until the leaves turned bronze and the greens turned gold once more. 

_No_ , Mikkel reprimanded himself inwardly. _Because he wasn’t going to be here when autumn arrived. There was still time. Still time._

Was that a lie?

Mikkel still hadn’t followed up on Regina’s proposition for coffee with herself and Aleksander, either. And he realised now, he would likely no longer need to. So long as he kept to himself over the coming weeks. She hadn’t pressed too much since she had asked, although she would gently remind him once or twice a week. ‘Before we break for summer,’ he had promised. A promise he could no longer fulfil.

Mikkel had quietly observed the students’ reactions to Regina’s transformation since that day she’d approached him about his falling asleep in class. The youths that had once sneered and scorned, tormented and taunted his bushy-haired friend whenever she crossed a corridor had briefly quieted: boys might eye her silently, or else whisper under their breath to their friends as she passed. Some of the more brazen males might throw crude comments her way, for all to hear. Girls would simply watch her reproachfully, green with envy. A few had approached her, impressed and offering a place within their cliques. But these were the girls that had pulled at her hair and mocked her for her glasses not so long ago. And when Regina simply ignored them all, not prepared to forget the treatment she had faced at their hands when her prettiness had been less overtly displayed, the admiration and comments had stopped. Now she was back to being Four-Eyes Tiedemann, attractive or not. People were offended that she hadn’t blushed and gushed over the compliments she had received, the invitations to climb the social hierarchy she had been offered. And that was rather admirable, Mikkel had thought. To be so willing to continue being an outsider, rather than a defector or a bully herself. To scoff at the hand of popularity that had been extended to her. And that only made him feel guilty for not obliging her offer sooner.

Today, Mikkel lay in bed. Ines had brought breakfast to his room this morning, as a rare treat: stacked pancakes dripping in syrup, an enticing incentive to eat. She had noticed he often picked at his food, didn’t always eat as much as a growing boy probably should. He had obligingly consumed the whole thing, and the glass of orange juice along with it. And now he lay, belly still full, watching the tree twist in a light summer breeze beyond the window. He was content to just curl under the covers of his bed and never get out. If only he could sleep the rest of his days away, never having to think, never having to feel. To worry. To feel the unending pressure to enact a plan that still scared him, that he was no longer sure he was committed to. Endless darkness.

Because the truth was, Mikkel no longer knew what to do or what to believe. Was there a God? Surely not… but if there was? If this was truly his plan? And if so, why? What was his purpose here? And if he did have a purpose, was it right to leave at all? Was it as it was destined, to go back to the future, if there was a reason he had been sent to the past? Could he bear to leave Ines behind now, when he knew his presence made her so happy? But what if God’s plan (if there _was_ a God) was actually just for him to be here briefly, perform a simple act or make a simple revelation, and then go back? What if in fact his purpose for being here was because he needed to change something here, in order to make for a better future when he returned? Was he meant to return at all? And what if all that was a bunch of foolishness, and God was merely the brainwashing of the masses as his father had so stoutly believed? What if this was all some terrible accident that was never meant to happen at all, was a divergence of any plan for his life, God or not? What if it served no purpose whatsoever and he just simply needed to get back home as soon as possible?

And what even _was_ home anymore? Was it here in 1987 with Ines? Was it back in 2020 with the only family he had ever known until less than a year ago?

Where did he belong, really?

*

Ines had arrived after lunch with another glass of orange juice as Mikkel sat painting on his bed. It wasn’t long after he’d downed the last drop that he began to feel rather drowsy and decided an afternoon nap was in order. And although he’d welcomed the dreamless sleep that followed, it was all too soon that he was awoken by the sound of voices downstairs. He crept to the door and reached the very top of the stairs, where he stood silently, listening.

‘Has he ever said anything to you about his parents?’ A male voice, vaguely familiar.

‘Michael wants to put that all behind him. He has a new life now.’ Ines, of course. She was off from work today, planning to do some work in the garden.

‘Has he ever mentioned their names to you? First names? Nicknames? The name Ulrich? He hasn't mentioned that to you, either?’

Ulrich? Mikkel’s heart had stopped beating.

‘Has he ever... talked about a "White Devil"?’ The man again, and now Mikkel realised where he recognised the voice from. The old police officer he had met that day he’d arrived in 1986. The old man who had sat in his father’s office, convinced Mikkel’s visit was all a set-up manufactured by a teenaged Ulrich Nielsen. What was he doing here? And why was he asking about his father once more?

‘I don't understand what the point of all these questions is.’ Neither did Mikkel, but he wanted to.

‘Perhaps I can talk to him tomorrow?’

‘Yes. Fine.’ Ines sounded mildly irritated, as if she’d like nothing less than to receive another visit from the old man.

‘If anything else comes to mind, just give me a call.’ Mikkel could hear the scraping of chairs, as if the old man was getting up to leave.

‘All right.’

There was a pause, and Mikkel desperately wanted to descent a few more steps and peer across the bannister, but he knew he couldn’t risk being caught snooping.

‘I, um... I've been sleeping badly again. Nightmares.’ Ines had been having trouble sleeping too?

‘One more thing. Do you maybe have a photo of the boy? Just for the files.’

More silence. And then-

‘Just for the files, right?’

‘Just for the files.’

Mikkel listened as the man began to leave moments later, heard his footsteps on the creaking wooden floor and the door close behind him. But he didn’t go downstairs to ask Ines any questions, however. Instead he just went back to bed, and fell back to sleep the second his head hit the pillow.

*

_June 24 th 1987 _

The next morning, Mikkel awoke, now convinced the conversation he had overheard had been just a dream. Ines had made no reference to any visitors that previous afternoon nor evening, not even over dinner when Mikkel had asked her how she’d been getting on with the garden.

Mikkel now sat at the old table and chairs that Ines had erected from the shed for the summer, his Rubik’s cube in his hands. With little else to do to fill the hours now he was no longer at school, he’d decided to get some fresh air and have another shot at completing it. It was a bright, balmy day, the scent of freshly-mown grass lingering in the summer air. Ines was back at work, so he sat alone. It was almost daunting how accustomed he’d become to his own company these days. He could barely remember the time when he had sought to be around others constantly, always surrounded by friends or family. It seemed like a million years ago. Like some hazy dream he’d once had.

Suddenly he heard the faint plod of footsteps approaching, the sounds mingling with the twittering and chirping of the birds in the edge of the forest beyond. For a wild moment, he thought perhaps it might be Ines, come home early or else on her break to check up on him. But when he looked up, only an elderly man stood at the fringe of the garden, long grey hair unkempt to his shoulders. He appeared to be wearing some kind of patient uniform, although he didn’t recognise it from the hospital. He was slick with sweat, patches forming across his chest, and he was breathing heavily as though he had ran for miles. But what struck Mikkel most was his eyes: how familiar they were. And also how scared and disbelieving they appeared in his aged, lined face.

‘Can I help you?’ he asked. The man remained in a stunned silence. ‘Are you not well?

He placed the Rubik’s cube on the table (still unsolved) and stood, unsure whether to approach the man. It seemed he needed help. But Mikkel was alone, and if the man was dangerous…

‘Would you like a drink?’ he asked the man. He seemed tired after having ran for so long, after all. At least a drink would have him feeling better. The man only nodded imperceptibly, still stunned and speechless. ‘Why don’t you sit down?’ Mikkel suggested, offering him a seat at the table. ‘I’ll get some juice.’

And so the old man hobbled forward slowly, rather weak with age and fatigue. He chose instead a seat on the bench beside the table, and watched closely as Mikkel disappeared inside the house to gather some glasses.

*

A few minutes later, Mikkel carried two glasses of fresh orange juice down the front stairs and out into the garden. He knew he should be scared, or at the very least, nervous, around this strange man. He looked slightly unhinged, unwell. He looked like he might have perhaps escaped from some kind of mental hospital. He knew Ines would be horrified if she knew that he was entertaining such an individual. But she didn’t know, and she didn’t have to know, either. It could remain a secret. _Everyone in Winden has secrets,_ Hannah had said. Well now he had one more.

‘Thanks,’ the old man said as Mikkel passed him a glass. Mikkel thought about returning back to his seat, but decided instead to sit himself on the bench beside the stranger. There was something oddly comforting about him, as if Mikkel knew somehow the man wouldn’t hurt him. They both took a sip from their drinks simultaneously. Mikkel gulped most of his down in one and wiped at his mouth. He watched as the old man drained his glass in his thirst and placed it back on the table. But all Mikkel could do was think about how familiar this man seemed, the glint in his eyes that resonated with him despite the wrinkling skin that surrounded them.

Unable to stop himself, Mikkel told the man, ‘you seem familiar somehow.’

The old man had been poised as if to say something before Mikkel beat him to it, but he paused as he turned to face Mikkel, a blend of confusion and surprise etched across his aged features. He hesitated to reply, seemingly considering his answer in a way that briefly reminded Mikkel of when Ines had been deciding how to answer his question about God. Except this time, Mikkel felt the old man wasn’t deliberating over whether to tell Mikkel the truth, but rather _how_ to tell him the truth.

Finally, the man said, ‘I've waited over thirty-three years for this moment.’ He stared at the table as though lost in his thoughts.

But Mikkel was lost in his own. Thirty-three years? He needn’t have bothered with any calculations to realise that was the number of years he’d been sent back in time. He’d thought about it often enough, wondered fruitlessly if the number held any significance at all. But _why_ would the old man before him have been waiting thirty-three years to meet Mikkel? Unless…

The old man turned toward the empty glass still sitting on the table. With hands as weathered as his face, he turned the glass over, so its base faced skyward. And still not looking at Mikkel, he said…

‘The question is not how… but _when_. You said that. Remember?’

He did. As foggy as his mind was these days, as weak as his memories were becoming, as tired as he always was, he remembered. It was his line, his customary response when people would always ask _how_ he executed his illusions instead of _when_. And the last time he had said that line… the last person he had said it to was his…

‘Papa.’

He was enveloped in his father’s arms at last. Finally, he was home.

*

It was impossible. _Impossible_.

But nothing was impossible.

He knew that better than anyone else.

But it was inconceivable, unbelievable, that someone had finally found him, his _papa_ had finally found him, when he’d so long ago given up on being found at all.

Was he dreaming?

His papa didn’t explain why he was thirty-three years older, and what had happened to him in those years since. Mikkel could only assume that he, too, had travelled. And for the first time, he experienced a new, evermore complex consequence of time travel. It had been seven months since he had seen his father last. But for his father, it had been more than thirty-three years. And those years were evident on his lined, aged face. Simply trying to wrap his head around the convolutions of such a notion had him feeling disoriented, almost nauseous, although that might also have been a result of the utter shock that was pulsing through every nerve in his body.

‘We don’t have time,’ his papa had said when he’d asked what had happened to him. ‘I’ll explain everything later. When I’ve brought you home. People… people will be looking for me. And they’ll know… they’ll know I’ll be looking for you. We have to leave _now_.’

He stood quickly, looking toward the endless corpus of trees behind him. Then he turned back to Mikkel, who now stood automatically in response to his papa’s urgency. ‘You know where we have to go,’ his father said.

Not a question.

Mikkel nodded. ‘The caves.’

His papa moved toward him, leaning to meet his eyes. The eyes looking back at him were the same colour as his own, he realised. How had he never noticed before?

‘I’m taking you home, Mikkel. You’re my son, and I’m taking you home. I’ll never let anyone hurt you, never let anyone take you away from me again. Never.’

Mikkel wanted to cry. He wanted to tell his papa that he loved him, that he was inexplicably grateful that he had been found at last. But he was so overwhelmed and so accustomed to remaining silent for almost every minute of his life that he simply stood, holding back the tears that threatened to fall.

His father smiled and extended a wrinkled hand.

‘Let’s go home.’

*

And so now they ran. Ran faster than Mikkel had ever ran before, faster than the night he’d arrived in 1986 and raced from the hospital under the cover of darkness, faster than only two days ago when he’d heard the calling rumble of the caves. He was surprised at how swiftly, how expertly his papa ran alongside him, navigating the dense forest. Mikkel’s hand was wrapped in his the whole time. His papa was never letting him go again. The cave was in sight… closer and closer they ran. Only a few sprints away. He was going home. He was really going home.

Except-

‘STOP! FREEZE!’

They were suddenly surrounded by three armed police officers, Ines and the old officer Mikkel had thought he’d heard in the house yesterday bringing up the rear. Ines tried to race toward him, as though Mikkel were in danger, as though he should be in fear of the old man, his _papa_ , who had come to take him home.

‘Michael!’ she yelled as the old officer held her back.

‘Let go of the boy!’ another armed officer demanded as his papa shielded him from view behind his back. _His papa was never letting him go again._

‘No!’ his papa roared as an officer ordered him to the ground. ‘You don’t get it! He’s my son!'

‘I said get down now!’

But his papa wasn’t letting go. Ines was still screaming his name. The name that had grown as familiar as it had been foreign in recent months. He thought about how the name ‘Mikkel’ had sounded like a distant memory on his father’s lips earlier.

But now the armed officers were surrounding them, and he didn’t have time to think of anything at all except the arms that were pulling him away from his papa. Pulling them apart once more. But hadn’t his papa said he was never letting him go again?

‘Mikkel!’ his father shouted.

‘Michael!’ Ines yelled.

He was lifted up and away by one of the officers as the other two dragged his father across the forest floor, further and further from his reach. Ines landed beside him and wrapped him in her arms as he watched his father become separated from him once more, not by the hands of time, now, but by hands themselves.

‘Mikkel, I'll be back!’ his papa thundered as he was handcuffed and dragged further and further away. ‘I'll take you home! I promise! I promise!’

Ines knelt at Mikkel’s side, brushing away the hair that had clung to his face and neck with sweat from their failed escape. Another attempt at getting home snatched away from him as quickly as his future had been snatched away from him that night seven months ago.

His papa paused before the old officer, yelling something about this being his fault, but Mikkel wasn’t listening anymore. The world and sounds around him had become as clouded and foggy as his head. It seemed like colour itself was fading from the forest around him as Ines clung to him tightly, stroking his hair. He could feel her heart beating beneath him like a wild drum. Or was it his own?

It felt like he no longer knew left from right anymore, no longer knew his head from his toes.

Why wasn’t he shouting? Why wasn’t he crying? Why wasn't he doing anything?

Why was it all he could do but melt into Ines arms and watch in silence as his father became a distant figure, a distant memory inside a greyscale nightmare?

*

_June 27 th 1987 _

After the events of three days ago, Ines had sprung into action. She didn’t go to work. She wouldn’t let him out of her sight. She spent every waking hour on the phone to this person and that, arranging who knew what, but she flittered repeatedly between states of anger, grief and hysteria, in a frantic, endless loop.

But he found out later that afternoon what Ines had been planning, when she sat him down at the table, eyes red from lack of sleep.

‘Pack your things,' she said. Anything you want. We’re… going away for a while. Think of it as a... holiday. Child Protective Services have organised everything for us. We… _you_ need a break. From this house. How can you forget if escaped mental patients are on the loose, lying to you about who they are? It’s not safe. So pack your things. We leave in three hours.’

*

Mikkel hadn’t packed much. Hadn’t even asked any questions. It was as though every action was merely a dream, that he existed now only in a constant haze where anything he did bore no relevance, no consequence. Colours still seemed pale and faded. Dull. But he packed his paint set anyway.

And on his way through the door, Ines already ahead and lugging a bag into the back of the car that had come to whisk them away with the help of the driver, he paused. On the table beside the door was Thursday’s newspaper, where his attempted ‘kidnap’ had been reported in thick black letters across the front page, alongside a picture of the old man he’d believed had been his father. He _knew_ had been his father. He folded up the paper and pocketed it as he closed the door behind him.

*

The ‘holiday’ turned out to be an isolated wood cabin at the fringe of Winden forest, right at the borders of the town itself. Miles from any other houses or people. If Mikkel had felt alone before, well, now he truly was.

It had been arranged for someone to stop by weekly to deliver groceries, and at least one officer would be on guard not far from the cabin both day and night, lest any other escaped mental patients try to steal him away once more.

Some basic food items had already been stocked in the cupboards and fridge. He and Ines shared a silent dinner of chicken and canned vegetables, and then Mikkel retired to his room and laid on the cold, unfamiliar bed in the small second bedroom. The only sounds outside were the owls outside, hooting into the night sky above. But he didn’t cry. He barely felt anything at all as he pulled out the newspaper from his bag and examined the picture of his papa. His papa in his wrinkled mask of skin.

_I’ll never let anyone take you away from me again_ , he had said. _Never._

And that had been a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So folks, we’re finally there! Season 3 and onwards next, and seeing as we didn’t really see anything of Mikkel in the final season, it’ll take me all of one scene to cover it lol. I’ve been itching to get to this point because I’m more free in what I do with the characters going forwards now. What happens to Mikkel between now and the night before he dies is a relative mystery that I’m happy to uncover, haha. 
> 
> The pacing of the story will also increase a fair bit, in terms of how much time passes in each chapter, just because if I carry on as I’ve done thus far I’ll be writing about a twelve year old for another three years and I’ve got stories to tell that aren’t age appropriate for a twelve-year-old lol. At the same time I do want this fic to explore his adolescence and and coming of age, so it’s not like I’ll be skipping years at a time or anything for a long while. More Hannah, Regina, Aleksander and Charlotte in the next chapter! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


	11. Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikkel learns from Hannah that a strange woman has been looking for him at the school, and he comforts a devastated Regina who is now suffering the loss of her own family. Later, he meets Hannah on the eve of Halloween and the night of her birthday, where he gives her a very special gift she wont soon forget, and makes a startling revelation of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up, this is a looong chapter! Like, really, really long. I'm not sure what happened, but it's almost double the length of my average chapter, yet it took me the same amount of time to write. But, in my biased opinion, it's one of the best! I absolutely loved writing this. To quote 'eitokus', "Hannah fans, you eating GOOD in this chapter". Lol.  
> Happy reading! <3

Chapter Eleven - Halloween

_June 28 th – September 23rd 1987 _

The weeks and months Mikkel spent at the secluded forest cabin passed by in a hazy fog of emptiness. 

For the first month, Ines wouldn’t let him out of her sight at all, not even to walk around the deserted forest beyond. Mikkel couldn’t think why anyone, dangerous or not, would be lingering around the very fringes of Winden, where as far as he could tell from the drive up to the cabin, consisted of nothing but endless rows of trees and more trees. But if wanted to get out for some fresh air, Ines would be there at his side at all times, cigarette in hand and eyes narrowed as though inspecting every tree for potential hidden figures concealed behind the trunk.

He was very fond of Ines, had realised just how grateful he was for her recently. And in some ways, he understood why it was that she was being so overprotective, so overly cautious. But he felt utterly stifled, unable to breathe even when he stood outside with nothing but fresh summer air surrounding him. As bad as things had been back at the Kahnwald house, at least he’d had the freedom to bike to school and back, and could have his own space when he needed it. Even though he had his bedroom to himself, Ines would coax him into spending hour after hour with her in the living room of the cabin, watching boring TV or else playing some of the old, dusty board games that had been stacked on one of the shelves. And when he was able to have some time alone in his room, she would knock and peek her head around the door every thirty minutes just to check he was still there, lest someone had crawled through the window and stolen him away into the clustering branches beyond. 

In the last few weeks, she had begun to loosen up and seemingly realise that Mikkel was in no immediate danger of being kidnapped by anymore escaped mental patients, and as the cabin was constantly watched by one of the CPS officers day and night, he was eventually allowed to roam the woods on his own, so long as he stayed within view of the kitchen window that overlooked the corpus of fir trees beyond. But every day was groundhog day for Mikkel now, the same tedious day after the next. He hadn’t even got around to painting anything, unless abstract greyscale swirls of nothingness counted for something. It was like he couldn’t focus on anything for long enough: not painting, not reading, not even the TV show he was watching. His mind felt fractured into a million shards of thought that swam aimlessly through that ever-present fog: sometimes it was hard to tell if he was awake or dreaming, and he was beginning to feel detached from his own emotions, as though his body had gone into some sort of automatic defence mode, to shield him from anxiety and pain that would simply be too much to bear. Instead, he was finding it hard to care too much about anything besides Ines breathing down his neck at all hours and the utter boredom of each passing day. Even after what had happened in June.

He’d took a pair of scissors and cut out the picture of his aged father from the newspaper article, then pinned it on the wall beside his bed. It was as black and white as the world he currently inhabited. Something like pain and regret tugged at his heart whenever he looked at it, but then the fog seemed to reach his chest and swallow that up too.

In the early days of being at the cabin, he’d tried to ask and answer his own questions about what had happened: what had happened to his papa and why, and was he still somewhere in Winden right now? And if he was likely in the mental hospital as he suspected, where was that, and would he be allowed to visit him? That, he thought he could answer: no, and if he could, he would need Ines’ permission, and she would never allow it.

And did he really want to see him again? Should he? Would it even change anything, or was it already too late? Would it only hurt more than heal his heart?

On the last day at the cabin, before they were due to head home, Mikkel burnt the picture of his papa inside his bedroom with one of Ines’ cigarette lighters, not really sure why he was doing it.

He regretted it instantly.

But the spark of flame lit something inside him, and a pale film of colour crept into his vision. The realisation of what he’d done and the resulting regret he felt as he stared at the pile of ash on the floor had awoken some small part of him. One of those scattered, broken shards of his mind clicked back into place with another, slowly rebuilding. The fog began to ebb, just a little.

He cried himself to sleep that night.

*

_September 24 th 1987 _

Mikkel felt nauseous on the car ride back into town. And in some ways, he was glad for it. Because at least he was feeling _something_.

When they finally pulled up at the house, the sky was a foggy steal grey and the street lamp outside his bedroom window was casting a warm glow, already preparing for the early onset of dusk. The CPS had provided a cab for them, and the driver moved to help Ines unload their bags as Mikkel climbed out of the car. He took in the quaint crimson property with its charming exterior: the garden was now embellished with fallen leaves in varying shades of ochre and gold, and the table and bench still sat beside the rear stairs, where he had sat and drank orange juice with-… _easier not to think about it_ , Mikkel reminded himself. Instead he glanced up at his bedroom window and felt a peculiar sensation. Something didn’t feel right, although he couldn’t fathom what exactly that might be. It was rather a gut feeling, although his papa had always told him to trust his gut.

But then again, his papa hadn’t been right about everything.

And as Ines handed him the house keys and his bag and sent him ahead to unlock the door, there surfaced another unexpected feeling that simmered beneath the fog. He hadn’t realised it until now, having been away for an extended period and then returned, but somewhere along the way, the house had perhaps begun to feel more like home than he’d initially realised. When likened with the unfamiliarity and austere interior of the forest cabin, he could scarcely dare to believe he was slightly relieved to be back here, to have his old room and his old bed back once again. To not be quite so isolated anymore. The forest sprawled to the left of the property, and more residences lined up on its right. Mikkel made sure not to look at the table and the bench adjacent as he stalked across the garden and let himself in the house. The door creaked as he slipped inside.

He switched on a light and dropped his bag on the floor as he considered his surroundings. There were piles of bills accumulating at the door. Besides that, everything was the same as they had left it. Everything except one thing.

Ines picked up the bills as she let herself in, carrying the last of the bags with her. ‘So here we are again,’ she sighed as she dropped them on the table with the keys. ‘Should I make us a hot chocolate?’

But Mikkel wasn’t listening. Ines mercifully flicked on another light as he moved closer to the front doors, hardly daring to believe it. But it was clear now, in the warm glow of the room, that a single glass pane in the window of one of the doors had been shattered then later restored in an attempt to break into the property. But… who would do such a thing? And why?

Had his father come back for him after all?

Had he tried to take him back once more, only to find the house empty? But surely, if he had been here, the police would have located him.. they would have know to look here, would have known it to be the first place he’d go should he escape again. And surely they would have been in contact if that had been the case? So who was it? He was vaguely aware that Ines was saying something, but whatever it was became only disjointed mumbling that sounded indistinct and faraway, as though he now stood underwater and Ines was speaking to him from above the surface.

‘Michael?’

Mikkel snapped back to reality, as though he’d finally emerged from the watery depths below. 

‘Are you hungry?’ Ines asked pointedly, slightly concerned.

Mikkel gave her a shallow nod, but when he entered his bedroom that night after dinner, it was apparent that his bed had been slept in by someone other than himself. It had been made when he’d left, and now the duvet lay crumpled on the mattress, and the bed sheet was slightly wrinkled.

What sort of intruder hung around to sleep in the bed of the house they were trespassing in? He could think of only one, an old fairy tale character from his early childhood. 

But whoever had been sleeping in his bed, he was quite certain it hadn’t been Goldilocks.

*

_September 28 th 1987 _

It was Monday, and it was time to start back at school. Had he said he'd felt relieved to feel nauseous on the way back into town? As he stood in the grounds on that crisp autumn morning, his three bites of toast for breakfast now threatening to make an unpleasant reappearance, he privately felt it had been plenty easier to just not feel anything at all. Fighting the urge to turn right back around and disappear for the day, maybe go and while away the hours in the old hunting stand again, he headed inside the building, trying not to focus on any of the other kids around him.

School had started up a week ago for everyone else, so it was extra nerve-wracking to walk the halls this morning. Although, he’d gone through the schoolwork that had been sent to the cabin in the meantime, and Ines had had him studying as often as possible to make up for his considerable absence this past academic year. Not that any of it had really stuck, of course.

The corridors were packed with students, chatting or else lounging beside their lockers. Mikkel headed for his own, and it was all of thirty seconds before he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned, and there was Hannah, sporting her usual unassuming ponytail and a furious expression. Mikkel couldn’t helped but notice she looked a little older. Still amusingly short: in fact, Mikkel realised with a jolt, he had surpassed her by a few inches at this point, and had to lower his eyes slightly to meet hers. But there was a subtle sharpness to the planes of her freckled face that made her appear more mature than she had just a few months ago.

‘Where have you _been_?’ she asked exasperatedly, eyebrows raised as she waited impatiently for an answer.

Mikkel tried not to look uneasy as he grappled for one. ‘Ines… I mean, my mama…well, after what happened in the summer, she felt like it wasn’t safe for me at home. We went away for a while, until things calmed down again. That’s all. No big deal.’ Except it had been a big deal. Bigger than anyone could even begin to believe.

Hannah’s expression softened, and she toyed with the runaway threads on the straps of her backpack. ‘Yeah, it was in the papers. Crazy, right?’ She hesitated, then said, ‘I wonder why the crazy old man was so interested in you? Oh, and speaking of crazy people! I’ve got news for you!’

‘You have?’ enquired Mikkel, surprised.

Hannah nodded as a familiar smirk tugged at her lips. ‘This woman, just a few days ago in fact… well, she was looking for you, of all people. She had posters and everything! I don’t think she was right in the head, if I’m honest, and clearly she doesn’t read the papers, because she had no idea about what had happened this summer. And she looked like a homeless person. With crazy eyes.’ Hannah crossed her eyes as if to imitate such a thing. ‘And when I told her what had happened to you in the summer, she shoved me against a wall and said-’. Hannah paused midsentence, as though she had been on the verge of revealing too much information.

‘What did she say?’ Mikkel pressed desperately.

Hannah shook her head and shot him a curious glance before looking down at her boots. ‘Nothing. She just… she just said if there’s something I know that I’m not telling her, I better tell her now.’ She raised her head to meet his once more, the smirk once again firmly in place. ‘And I told her, "it’s like I said, I don’t know anything". And then she left. Like I said, she was a crazy woman. Probably another escaped mental patient. Funny thing is, why would _two_ crazy people be looking for you in the space of a few months?’

‘I don’t know,’ Mikkel said quietly, trying to maintain a composed expression as those shards flickered beneath an imaginary flame, begging to be made whole like that tell-tale pane of glass as it flashed through his mind once more. This couldn’t be a coincidence. Whoever was looking for him at school, had also been in his home and slept in his bed. And it certainly wasn’t his father. Which meant perhaps it was his...

‘Maybe they’re drawn to other weird people, people like you,’ Hannah remarked before he could dwell on his realisation. ‘They can probably sense you’ve got a few screws loose up there.’ She tapped her head with a wicked grin. Mikkel shook his head and turned to his locker, trying to breathe and sound normal at the same time.

‘I thought you were avoiding me, anyway? Why are you even telling me this?’

He could almost feel Hannah deflate behind him. ‘I wasn’t talking to you. But, now I am. If that’s okay with you, I mean… if you’d rather not talk to me again, then I’ll understand…’.

Mikkel turned back toward her, slightly surprised. It wasn’t like Hannah to be self-effacing, not around himself at least. She almost wilted under the suspicious glance he gave her.

‘I missed you, okay?’ she snapped moments later, quickly regaining her composure. ‘And I hate you for making me say that, and I’ll never say it again, so don’t ask! But… I was worried. That maybe you’d left Winden for good, after what happened.’

Mikkel could’ve sworn he almost chuckled. Actual laughter? A _positive_ emotion? Evoked from Hannah, of all people? How was it that Hannah could wake up his emotions better then he himself could? And, was that colour he could see blossoming on her pale cheeks? Was the world just a little brighter, a little richer?

But, if what Hannah had said was true, then: he had been missed. Someone had noticed and cared that he’d disappeared.

And that felt good.

He almost wanted to paint again. Paint with actual colours. 

‘Of course I want to talk to you,’ he said with a grin of his own. A few awkward moments passed between them, as it seemed neither of them knew what to say next.

‘Check this out!’ Hannah said eventually, looking a little flustered as she pulled off her backpack and began rummaging inside. Mikkel hoped he didn’t look equally flustered as he watched her. ‘My papa got it for me as an early birthday present!’ She pulled out a large, polaroid camera. ‘My birthday’s not till next month, but I persuaded him I needed it early because I wanted to use it for a school project. Which wasn’t a total lie, I guess. Do you like it? It’s a pretty new model, I’m amazed papa could afford it! Perks of being an only-child, I guess. Hey, let me take a picture of you!’

‘No way!’ Mikkel said, alarmed and taking a step back.

‘Why not?’ Hannah asked, sounding a little hurt as she gazed lovingly at the camera before slipping it back into her bag. ‘I don’t know why you’re being so self-conscious, you look… well, you don’t look bad or anything.’

Was that an almost-compliment? Again, from _Hannah_ of all people? He didn’t hesitate to move the conversation along as he re-joined her beside his locker. ‘When’s your birthday, anyway?’

‘October thirty-first,’ Hannah answered, raising her hands and wriggling her fingers in a show of mock spookiness. ‘The same night all the ghosts and ghoulies come out to play.’

‘Are you doing anything nice for it?’ Mikkel asked as he placed a heavy book in his locker and swung the door shut.

‘I don’t really know yet,’ Hannah sighed, looking at the floor and looking rather miserable. ‘Probably a party at my place. Whenever I’ve had big parties before, people turn up because I’m friends with Katharina and Ulrich, but they always seem to forget it’s _my_ party and not some random get-together. But people will want to come, because last year my dad bought alcohol for everyone and let them smoke in the house. It'll be the same thing this year, and once again I'll end up sat on my own and sober as day while everyone else is having a good time, dancing and kissing and smoking. You know, on my last birthday, some guy asked me who the party was even for. ’

‘Well, at least they came,’ Mikkel said placatingly, hating the pitiful look on her face and trying to think of anything worse than the type of party she had just described. ‘If I threw a party, I doubt anyone would turn up at all. Most people don’t even know my name.’

Neither did he, really, he thought with a dull pang in his chest.

‘Maybe… maybe we could hang out before my party this year?’ Hannah suggested coyly. ‘Just me and you, like before? I mean, we’re friends right? We shook on it, there’s no going back now. And besides, that means you can give me my birthday present!’

Birthday present? But he’d never bought a present for a girl, unless his mama and sister counted, but that wasn’t quite the same. What was he supposed to get her?

But Hannah pressed on without waiting for an answer. ‘And… and maybe we could hang out today? After school? Katharina’s got a dentist appointment, and Ulrich’s going to Jürgen's place to smoke weed all afternoon. And papa’s working, so it all works out perfectly!’

Mikkel frowned. He didn’t want to think about Ulrich- his papa, he reminded himself- smoking anything besides nicotine at all. Moreover, he was irritated, which surprised him yet again this morning. And he realised he was irritated because Hannah had wanted to meet him _before_ her party, rather than invite him to the event itself. And he was equally irritated that they could hang out today _only_ because certain factors allowed them some privacy. Which should be expected – hadn’t they wanted to keep their after-school hangouts a secret and to themselves? So why did he feel mildly annoyed that she still wanted to keep their friendship hidden from the world? Was she still embarrassed to be seen with him outside the school walls?

Hannah, however, seemed to interpret his grimace as a response solely to her admission regarding Ulrich’s own after-school activities, and said, ‘he’s done it for a while, but it used to be just now and then. But since Mads disappeared, he’s been doing it more and more often. Kind of a lot, these days. I think it’s pretty cool, although Jürgen is kind of a stoner. But anyway, Ulrich won’t ever let me come with him when he does, because he says I’m too _young,_ even though I’m older than he was when he first started.’ Hannah rolled her eyes irritably. But then she perked up and her eyes flashed as though she had suddenly remembered something very important. ‘Speaking of disappearing people! Maybe you didn’t hear - Tiedemann’s mama has gone missing, too!’

 _What?_ Mikkel thought.

‘What?’ he said.

‘Yeah, since June twenty-seventh! Just up and vanished, the same day they found Regina’s grandfather dead in his apartment! It’s all a bit suspicious, you know. People are saying she went on the run and left Regina behind, because she killed her grandfather and didn’t want to get caught!'

Regina’s grandfather was dead? And her mother had up and vanished without a trace? Could this mean anything? But if so, what? And why would Regina’s mother kill her own father, and then take off without her? That sounded unimaginably horrible. Maybe, even, as horrible as what he’d been through. ‘Does… does Regina know anything? About what happened?’

‘Well, if she does… she’s not saying anything,’ Hannah said with a shrug. ‘She’s been off school since, just like you. I think she’s supposed to be coming back today as well, actually.’ Hannah didn’t look particularly thrilled about this, however.

‘So… who’s looking after her now? Her papa?’

‘Not her papa, no. No one knows who her papa is, not even Regina, I don’t think. As far as I know, it was just her and her mama. And she’s still at home, but since she doesn’t have any family left, Aleksander Kohler moved in with her. Since he’s twenty-one, he’s acting as her legal guardian or something until she turns eighteen. Which is kind of weird considering they’re dating, but what’s new when it comes to Four- I mean, Regina.’ Hannah glanced at him rather sheepishly, seemingly hoping he hadn't caught the slip-up. 

Mikkel suddenly felt sick again, but he still offered Hannah a disapproving glare at her almost-insult towards Regina.

Hannah crossed her arms and all sheepishness was replaced with a scowl. ‘Don’t look at me like that. You don’t get to tell me what to do or say, you know, you’re younger than me remember! Although you wouldn’t know it these days.’ She shot him a considering glance as she registered his height, but then sighed and went on. ‘Look, I’m sorry, okay?… Like I said before, it’s an old habit… I’ll _try_ to stop it, okay? And… if I’m honest, some people are being pretty mean about her here. I mean, most people feel bad for her, but still, lots of people are saying that she’s so weird, her mama went on the run just so she didn’t have to deal with her anymore, and in fact her grandfather killed _himself_ so he wasn’t stuck with her either. It’s really bad. And I… look, I don’t like Regina, but I do feel sorry for her, you know. I mean, I know how it feels… to feel abandoned.’

‘You… you do?’ Mikkel said, stunned for the millionth time that morning.

Hannah gave him a look as if she’d said too much, and tugged her backpack firmly on her shoulders as she began to edge away. ‘I need to go. Katharina will be outside, wondering where I am. Meet me outside the grounds after school, the usual place. Bye!’

Hannah spun as if to leave, then hesitated, turning back to face him. She placed a hand on his arm and said, ‘I’m glad you’re back, Michael.’ She flashed him one of her genuine smiles, and then she was off. Mikkel watched her go, the ghost of her touch still lingering on his arm as her long brown ponytail swung behind her and disappeared beyond the yellow doors.

*

As the end of the school day arrived, Mikkel wasn’t in a hurry to find Hannah: not just yet. He’d spent the whole day doing two things: first, trying not to entertain the notion that perhaps his mama had come looking for him now, too. Which suddenly felt much harder to do than it would have been just yesterday, before Hannah had unintentionally begun rebuilding those broken shards and dissolving that befuddling fogginess. And second: keeping an eye out for Regina. He’d been on the lookout for her all day, but he was sure she must not have come to school today after all, as he hadn’t seen her once. Granted, they didn’t share any classes, but it was unusual for him to not see her in passing at least, even if they didn’t speak to each other. As he shut his locker and shrugged on his backpack, he scoured most of the corridors, just in case he might catch her before he left. No such luck. It would have to wait, but he desperately wanted to speak to her. Apologise for evading her harmless requests to join her for coffee with Aleksander. It was just coffee: why had he been so evasive? Regina had never been anything but kindly to him. And now he felt hopelessly guilty, and every second that ticked by without him offering her an apology only left him feeling even more so. Moreover, he wanted to ensure she was okay: she’d said herself, she had no friends. And now, she had no family either. And if there was anyone who had an idea of what that was like, it was him.

He went to the bathroom before he left to join Hannah, who would no doubt be as prickly as ever with him for keeping her waiting, if she was still waiting for him at all. As he exited the bathroom door, he noticed that the corridors were now devoid of students: everyone had already left. Except one. There was a small sob emitting from the girls’ bathroom beside him. Could it be? Surely not. But he knocked on the door gently and opened it just a slither, keeping his eyes on the ground as he said softly, ‘everything okay?’

‘Michael?’

Mikkel looked up. Stood before the row of bathroom sinks, a wad of tissue crumpled in her hand and tears staining her cheeks, was Regina.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, her voice wobbly and strained as she hurriedly dabbed at her face with the tissue. ‘This is the girls’ bathroom, you know.’

‘I heard crying, and I just wanted to make sure everything was okay,’ he answered honestly as he slipped inside. The door fell shut with a gentle thud behind him. ‘And… and I heard, about what happened to your grandfather. And that… that your mama is missing. I’m really sorry, Regina.’

Regina sniffed and studied the floor. ‘Thank you. But "sorry" won’t bring her back. It won’t bring my opa back, either.’

‘I know,’ Mikkel said, nervously wringing his hands as he took a few more steps into the room. ‘I know it won’t. And I know it’s not the same, but… I lost my parents, too. I mean- I mean, they’re still alive! But… but, they aren’t here, in Winden, I mean. And I miss them a lot. And I hope the police find your mama. But I don’t think she would leave you without good reason. Whatever reason she left, I’ll bet it was because she thought it was best for you. Sometimes… sometimes things happen for a reason, even if we don’t know what that reason is for a long time. Maybe sometimes we don’t ever get to know, I don’t know. I hope so though. Maybe it’s fate. Maybe it’s what God needed to happen. But, if you ever need a friend to talk to… I’m here. And I promise I’ll be a better friend to you. I’m sorry I wasn’t much of one before.’

‘Do you believe in God?’ Regina asked abruptly, bloodshot eyes wide as she finally dragged her eyes from the floor and looked up at him.

‘I… I don’t know. But… I want to believe there’s a reason why your mama left. And why… why I had to leave my parents. And why they had to leave me.’

Regina nodded absently and gave him a weak smile. Something like gratitude flashed in those red-rimmed eyes. Then she sighed and said, ‘soon, when I’m feeling a little more up to it, I’m going to ask you to join me and Alex for dinner after school. One last time. Promise me this time you’ll say yes?’

Mikkel nodded and offered her a warm smile of his own, and finally Regina seem to loosen as a faint chuckle escaped her, even as a solitary tear leaked from the corner of her eye and ran down her pale cheek like pearl against ivory.

*

When the pair finally exited the school doors, Aleksander was already waiting nervously in the grounds, pacing and fidgeting and restless. He breathed an obvious sigh of relief when he caught sight of them, and immediately made his was across the grounds to join them. He took Regina into his arms and instantly began to fuss over her gently.

‘I’m fine, Alex, honestly,’ Regina insisted, voice weak and scratchy from all the crying she must have done this summer. ‘I just had a little wobble, but Michael was here to save the day. Yet again. What would I do without you boys?’

When he was satisfied she wasn’t about to keel over, Aleksander turned and clapped Mikkel gratefully on the shoulder. ‘Good to know there’s actually some decent kids in this place. Thank you. Really.’ Mikkel returned his kind gesture with a polite nod.

‘Please, come and have dinner with us one night soon,’ Aleksander continued as he returned to Regina’s side and put an arm around her waist. Just in case she might actually keel over, perhaps. ‘I can’t tell you how many times Regina used to go on about having you over before-… well, before everything happened’. He glimpsed at her concernedly, then began to steer her away as he murmured, ‘come on, let’s get you home. I’ve got the car parked in the next street over. Thanks again, Michael.’ He cast Mikkel one more appreciative nod and Regina gave him a small smile and a wave before she allowed herself to be led away from the school grounds.

Mikkel watched them leave, suddenly feeling rather sleepy and quite ready for an afternoon nap, until an alarming realisation snapped him right out of his drowsy stupor: _Hannah._

Feeling even more nauseous than he had this morning, he set off to find her, anxiously speculating just how furious she might be.

*

‘Where have you _been_?’ Hannah said for the second time that day, except this time she was yelling at him and her eyes were flashing ferociously in the weak afternoon sun as he approached. ‘I was just about to leave! What the _hell_ were you doing?’ She calmed down enough to add, ‘I thought… I thought you’d forgot about me.’

‘I’m sorry, a teacher pulled me up for a chat about how I’m getting on with schoolwork after… everything,’ Mikkel lied easily. Almost too easily, Mikkel remarked to himself.

Hannah’s expression softened a little, but he could tell she was still annoyed with him. ‘Right. Fine.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘You must have had quite a lot to say, because I’ve been waiting here for almost twenty minutes. And that’s saying something, considering you’re usually a man of very few words. But anyway, let’s go.’ Hannah gripped his forearm lightly. ‘How are you, by the way? I never asked this morning. Are you… coping alright?’ That was twice in one day she had put a hand on him now. Mikkel had never known her to be so overtly tactile with him before. And now she was making a conscious effort to check on him too? This girl was full of surprises.

‘I’m okay,’ Mikkel answered with a small shrug, unsure this time whether he was even lying or not. ‘Thanks for asking.’

Hannah nodded and flashed him a smile, before they rounded the corner and back into the school grounds to pick up their bikes. And then they were off, riding through Winden together, Hannah’s ponytail whipping wildly behind her in the brisk autumn air as Mikkel followed close behind, trying intently to focus on where he was going instead of on the riot of dark brown curls ahead of him that danced like tongues of russet flame in the afternoon sun.

*

When they arrived at the lake, they made their way to their old spot, the normally secluded little nook in which Mikkel hadn’t set foot for many months now. The last time he’d been here, he’d been hiding amongst the brushes with Hannah and spying on Ulrich and Katharina. _On his parents_ , he reminded himself, before wishing he hadn’t bothered at all.

Hannah flopped on the ground and had pulled out her new camera before Mikkel had even sat down beside her. She sat crossed-legged as she pointed the device at the lake and snapped a photo, which slid out in the form of a small polaroid picture moments later.

‘I could take photos and you could paint them,’ Hannah mused as she laid it out on the ground to develop. ‘Like two kindred spirits, fighting the oppression that is Winden with our creative talents. Us against Winden, fighting to keep our souls bright before this place saps all the colour and life out of them.’ Hannah was staring off across the lake, lost in thought and no longer smiling. It was only several long seconds later that she snapped out of her reverie at the sound of distant laugher from somewhere across the lake. ‘Do you still paint?’ she asked, blushing slightly.

Mikkel wanted to tell her there was no need to be embarrassed: it was a nice thought, in a sad sort of way. But instead he said, ‘not since what happened. I tried, but it wasn’t like it was before. It didn’t make me feel anything.’

‘And what about your magic? I’ve not heard you talk about that in a while.’

Mikkel shook his head.

‘That’s a shame. I think you should get back into it. It was cool. You were really good at it.’ She picked up the now fully developed polaroid, nodded slightly with satisfaction and dropped it carefully inside her coat pocket. Then she picked up the camera again and turned it towards her, throwing the lens a shy smile and a peace sign as she snapped another photo. Mikkel was reminded suddenly, overwhelmingly, of his sister, taking selfie after selfie on her phone, posting only the most flattering one online in hopes of impressing Jonas, Mikkel had been sure of that. A heaviness settled across his chest at the memories. The pair remained in comfortable silence for several minutes as Hannah waited for the picture to develop.

She scowled when she eventually picked it up to examine it. ‘Ugh. I look so pale. And freckly. And ugly. And why didn’t you tell me my hair was such a mess? That’s what riding my damn bike in a breeze will do. Worth it though,’ she added as she reached up to fix her hair.

‘Why don’t you ever wear your hair down?’ Mikkel asked curiously as he watched her fiddle with the grips in an attempt to trap the strays.

‘What’s it to you how I wear my hair?’ Hannah glared when she’d finished attending to the flyaways.

She was right of course, it had nothing to do with him, and he hadn’t really meant to ask, it had just sort of… slipped out. The truth was, he hadn’t noticed until their bike ride how long Hannah’s hair really was, or how it could become an entity of its own when the wind hit it right. Or how it could shine like burnt chestnut underneath the sun at certain angles. He didn’t think he’d ever noticed anything much about a girl’s physical appearance at all until today, aside perhaps from Regina’s transformation. But that hadn’t left him with a strange, swooping and lurching sensation in his stomach. It vanished as quickly as it had come, not unpleasant, just unfamiliar. ‘I-…. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just… wondering. Never mind.’

Hannah sighed and began picking at the grass at her feet. ‘I just… it’s comfortable, I guess. And my hair is so long, it’d just get in the way all the time, anyway. I only let it down when I go to bed. And even then it can wage a war on my head if I roll around too much.’ She wrapped her ponytail around her head, hiding her face, and then let it drop. ‘Woke up with it wrapped twice over my eyes one morning. Thought I’d gone blind for a few seconds.’

She threw him a coy smile, and without warning, they both started laughing. Mikkel wasn’t even sure why he was laughing, all he knew was that Hannah seemed to glow like the sun when she did so, and laughter was contagious and felt so freeing. It seemed to penetrate and dissolve even more of that persistent mental fog with just the sound of it.The grass suddenly seemed greener, the cinnamon leaves scattered about them richer.

*

They spent another comfortable hour beside the lake before it was time to get back. Hannah had already grabbed her bike before Mikkel had stood. He realised she’d left the polaroid picture of herself on the ground.

‘Just throw it in the lake,’ Hannah had said when he tried to give it her back. ‘I don’t want it. I look ugly in it, and it makes me look about ten.’

And then she set off, and as Mikkel mounted his own bike, he pocketed the photo instead.

*

When Mikkel got home, after a rushed dinner and a speedy shower, he locked himself in his bedroom. And for the first time in months, he felt a rush of excitement as he pulled out his paint set and grabbed some canvas paper from his desk drawer.

He already knew what he was going to give Hannah for her birthday.

So he got to work.

*

_October 31 st 1987_

Just over a month later, and while the mental fog still persisted, it was less dense; and while still not whole, the fractured shards had slowly begun to rebuild. The world appeared in full colour once more. 

But he still hadn't acted on the news Hannah had told him, the idea that his mama could have been, and could _still_ be, here in 1987, looking for him. Nor had he delved any deeper into the notion that his papa may be a current mental patient here in 1987's Winden.

Only mere months ago, he would have jumped at either of these leads like he'd jump into a lifeboat if he were drowning. No hesitations. Focused only his goal to survive, to get back to his original timeline. 

So what had changed? And why was he still feeling sleepy so often, despite getting enough rest most nights?

It had been almost a year now, after all, since he'd done the impossible and travelled back in time. And he'd made no attempts to get back, not one, in a very long time. In fact, he'd made no real attempts at getting back since that first night, when he'd fled the hospital and entered the caves armed with only a lighter. Not if he was being honest with himself, he hadn't. 

And Mikkel often found himself ruminating over grand theories and ideas about God and the universe and his purpose in life. And recently, it seemed he just couldn't turn off that nagging doubt that he was _meant_ to be here. Even if he didn't want to be. But what would that mean for his future? And the future he'd be leaving behind if he stayed? 

But Mikkel had to finally admit to himself, that for now, at least, he felt unsure of where and when we was supposed to be. Which meant again that, for now, at least, it was better to just stay put and try to stay focused as much as possible despite everything. To collate his thoughts as best he could, until that one fateful day, when he would hopefully have the breakthrough and the mental clarity he needed to either move on or fully accept himself as Michael Kahnwald, and this new world he belonged to, for good. 

*

At four o’clock on that Halloween afternoon, Mikkel left the house to meet Hannah at their usual spot beside the lake, back in his coat and thick sweater as winter crept ever closer. He rode his bike the whole way there, savouring the wind in his hair despite the bitter chill.

Hannah wasn’t there yet when he arrived, so he sat down on a log and leant his bike against it. He checked his bag to make sure Hannah’s present was safely tucked inside, then found his Walkman, content to just sit and listen to the music while he waited.

Mikkel was getting a bit anxious after fifteen minutes had passed and Hannah still hadn’t put in an appearance. Then twenty. It was thirty minutes before she finally arrived, and the sky was already beginning to purple despite the early hour as she made her way towards him. She was wearing a huge grin and a black dress that flattered her small frame too well, branching off mid-waist into a flowing tulle skirt that floated in the breeze like an overturned bottle of midnight ink. As if in defiance of appearing too girly, she’d selected some rather chunky boots as her footwear of choice, and thrown on black tights and a black leather jacket to top it off. But her outfit wasn’t the only unusual thing Mikkel noticed about Hannah as she approached.

She was wearing her hair down, too.

And she hadn’t been lying when she’d said her hair was long – it was _very_ long, hanging in loose, dark brown curls that fell almost to her lower back. She looked like some kind of wicked fairy-tale princess dressed for both ball and battle, or like some kind of dark angel.

‘Happy now?’ she asked, giving him a twirl so he could get a full view of her dress and her hair as it swung in near-black waves around her beneath the darkening sky. ‘I curled it a little, just for tonight. It’s even longer when it’s straight.’ She flicked the curls over her shoulder as she joined him on the log. ‘And the black is a common theme. Halloween and all that. Often it ends up looking more like a funeral than a birthday party.’

‘I never said you had to wear your hair down, you know,' he said as he put his Walkman back into his bag. Why did his voice sound scratchy? ‘I just asked why you never do. But, it looks nice. And you look…’

‘I look _what_?’ Hannah pressed eagerly, leaning across the log slightly.

What was the word had he been going to say? Now that Hannah was leaning ever closer in anticipation of his answer, he was no longer sure. What was Hannah hoping he’d say?

‘Well, you don’t look _bad_ or anything,’ he teased after a few tense seconds, hoping she'd catch the reference, but Hannah just sighed and sat up straight again, so he plundered on. ‘Where were you anyway? I’ve been waiting here for half an hour.’

‘Well, I had to get you back for keeping me waiting last time, remember?’ she quipped smoothly.

‘Of course, how could I forget?’ Mikkel was beginning to feel flustered now, knowing he’d managed to prickle her again without being too sure why, or what she had been looking to hear from him instead. Perhaps he was still too young to pick up on these kinds of socials cues. And that familiar flush of heat at the back of his neck was back again with a vengeance. He hastened to move the conversation along, reaching inside his backpack for something. ‘Here’s my present for you, by the way,' he announced finally, when he pulled the roll of paper from the bag. 'It’s… it’s not much. I’ve never bought a present for a girl before, so I- well, I hope you like it, anyway.’

She unfurled the roll of paper he handed to her and her eyes widened. ‘Oh, Michael!’

She sat speechless for a few minutes, softly shaking her head from side to side as she traced her fingers across the paper. ‘No one’s ever painted _anything_ for me before. And definitely not a portait of _me_! Who'd have thought, me of all people being someone's creative muse? You used the polaroid photo as a guide? Hmm, you even managed to make me look less ugly. Granted, my nose looks more like a pear than an actual nose, but the essence of yours truly is there. I love it, thank you!’

It was true: his skills were more akin to Picasso than da Vinci right now. He still had a ways to go, and he was a few months out of practice, but still: it was no stick man, no jumbled mess of lines and swirls. And if even Hannah had chosen not to mock him for it, it couldn’t be _so_ dreadful.

‘I haven’t brought a bag with me to take it home in. Can you keep it for now and hand it to me at school next week?’

Mikkel nodded and took back the painting, popping it carefully back in his bag, privately pleased with himself that she hadn’t scoffed at the sight of it. Hannah rose from the log with a sigh.

‘Well, I guess I have to go now,’ she said half-heartedly. ‘My dad will want help setting up, and Katharina and Ulrich will be coming over earlier than everyone else. Besides, this jacket does nothing to keep the heat in and my arms are about to freeze off out here. But thanks Michael, really. That’s the best gift anyone’s ever given me, ever.’

‘Even better than a new polaroid camera?’ he teased lightly as he rose himself. 

‘Okay, second best gift ever,’ she retorted with a roll of her eyes. But she was still grinning, and then all of a sudden, she had wrapped her arms around him in a warm hug. Mikkel was rather taken aback, and he didn’t know what to do with himself: he’d never received a hug from someone of the opposite sex that wasn’t either a relative or at least thirty years older than him. She had her arms around his neck, and he marvelled for a second time at how much taller he was than her already. How hadn’t he noticed he’d grown so much? Or maybe it was Hannah who had simply shrunk instead? And why did her hair smell like cinnamon? And could she feel the blistering heat at the back of his neck? In an effort to no longer prolong the awkwardness, he wrapped his arms around her waist and tried to just sink into the pleasant physical contact, to appreciate the feel of her small body against his, and the comfort such a simple interaction could bring. He felt safe. He wondered if Hannah felt that way too.

He was just beginning to speculate on who was going to pull away first when a twig snapped not far to their right, and the pair sprung apart as though they’d been shocked with a spark of electricity at the mere touch of their bodies. A vaguely familiar figure stood about three metres away, looking as startled by their presence as they did hers.

‘Charlotte, what are you doing back here _again_?’ Hannah snapped, though she looked relieved. ‘Don’t you ever do anything else? Looking for more dead animals?’

‘Well, yes, but-… wait a minute, how did you know that?’

‘Oh, Katharina told me she’d seen you poking around here looking for them a while ago…’ Hannah supplied, throwing Mikkel a tactful glance.

‘Did she?’ said Charlotte, looking unconvinced. Mikkel noticed she was also holding onto her sketchpad, much like last time.

Hannah started. ‘Wait a minute. Aren’t you supposed to be at my party? Why aren’t you at home getting ready?’

‘Oh, erm, well, I was just on my way home now, actually. Will you be there… sorry, I don’t know your name.’ Charlotte looked enquiringly at Mikkel.

‘Michael, and he’s busy,’ Hannah shot quickly before Mikkel could even open his mouth to reply. ‘Behind on schoolwork after what happened this summer. Go home Charlotte. I’ll see you later.’

‘Oh. Well, nice to meet you, Michael. I’ve seen you around, of course. But it’s nice to put a name to a face. See you later, Hannah. You look very pretty, by the way.’ She smiled timidly and set off once more. Neither Hannah nor Mikkel spoke until the sound of fallen leaves crunching beneath Charlotte’s boots had long faded.

‘What was all that about?’ Mikkel frowned.

Hannah wouldn’t look at him, however. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Oh really? What’s so hard about just admitting we’re friends?’

‘You can talk!’ Hannah yelled. ‘What’s so hard about telling a girl what she wants to hear for a change?’

Mikkel shook his head in confusion. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Well, then I guess we’re both stumped aren’t we?’ Hannah sighed and took a moment to compose herself. ‘Look, I’m not going to stand here bickering with you all night on my birthday. But here’s a clue: think about what Charlotte said pretty carefully. I have to go. Don’t follow me, okay? And thanks again for the gift, Michael. It was really thoughtful. I’ll see you at school.’

Mikkel stood and watched her disappear in the same direction as Charlotte, and only when she was nothing but a small black shadow in the distance did he flop back down on the log. Now he felt bad for pushing her about the party. It wasn’t even as if he _wanted_ to go, or had any intention of going if he _had_ been invited: certain people would be there that were best avoided, after all. And he would be far too young, anyway, if there was to be the alcohol involved. But it still hurt that she was hiding him like this. Then again, he knew he couldn’t really blame her: she was older, he was the weird kid, and moreover, hadn’t he agreed to this secret friendship in the first place? Hadn’t that been what he’d wanted just as much as Hannah? So why did he care all of a sudden whether he was or wasn’t invited to some stupid party he didn’t even want to go to, or who knew or didn't know that they were friends?

It wasn’t until the sky had slipped from reddish purple to a dark blue that he finally understood Hannah’s clue, and what she had been hoping to hear from him tonight. And it wasn’t until the moon and the stars had begun to take residence in the sky despite it being barely six o’clock that he realised how that word would have been the perfect way to describe how Hannah had looked tonight in her dress and boots and long brown hair.

And not until he heard the sound of trick-or-treaters in the not too far-away distance did he finally understand what it meant to look at a girl and realise she was pretty, and to be able to appreciate that simple fact for what it was. And that scared him far more than any of the trick-or-treaters in their ghostly get-ups that he passed on the way home, flying down the roads on his bike to make it back before Ines whipped herself into a frenzy at his absence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be quite a lot of time jumping in the next one, I’ll be covering a whole year next chapter in order to move things along. More Hannah and Mikkel fluff coming your way, along with more Charlotte, and perhaps even… a new character?! Oh, and Mikkel will FINALLY get around to having that dinner with Regina and Aleksander (!!!!!).
> 
> ALSO I NEED OPINIONS: I mentioned this in the comments, but can anyone give me their theories on whether or not they believe it was Mikkel or Stranger Jonas that doodled on the map young Jonas finds in Michael's art room? And if you believe it was Mikkel's doing, why and how do you see that coming about? I've always believed that Stranger Jonas planted the map, but I want to keep this as canon as possible to what is represented in the show, so any thoughts, theories and opinions on this topic and how to approach it going forward what be very much appreciated <3
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)
> 
> PSA for all you astrology nuts: Seeing as we were discussing Mikkel’s star sign in the comments a couple of chapters ago, I just HAD to mention that Hannah in this fic is, conveniently, a Scorpio. Which, is apparently the most manipulative of all the zodiac signs (no hate if you’re a Scorpio btw, I’m sure you’re the best really!). Hmm. And this was pure luck by the way, because I always planned to have her birthday on Halloween. Here’s a description of Scorpio’s sneaky side I pulled up from a search: 
> 
> “The scorpion very appropriately symbolizes the most manipulative sign in all the zodiac. They're a small, sneaky little creature whose unexpected sting packs a deadly punch. This is the power a Scorpio is capable of. They have an inner sense of ambition that they keep close to the chest, spending a lot of time surveying their environment with a hidden agenda. Capable of picking up on your weaknesses, they'll tell you exactly what you want to hear and memorize everything you tell them in return, just in case that information might prove useful later on…
> 
> …. They pick up on important details that people are often too afraid to look for. This ability lets them easily sidestep others. But underneath their cunning ways is not just an attempt to gain control, but also to protect the interests of themselves and those they love. If you have a Scorpio on your side, you're very lucky. If you're on their bad side... well, you better start making amends”
> 
> Whether you’re interested in zodiac signs or not, don’t tell me that ain’t Hannah!


	12. Four Seasons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikkel is in for a shock when he returns to school, and a school dance provides opportunities for new friendships to form. Later, Hannah and Mikkel have a frank discussion about their relationship, and Mikkel learns there's more to Aleksander than meets the eye. Finally, Mikkel stumbles on a possible breakthrough that might just lead him back to the future: but at what cost?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhhhh boy, is this a mega chapter. It's basically two (more like three) chapters in one. I always have a guideline of what I want to explore within each chapter, but I had SO MUCH to cover here. As the title might suggest, this chapter spans almost a whole year, in order to get the story moving forward a bit. And it's really an important one: every season offers a moment that will significantly shape and influence Mikkel's journey going forward. There's drama, there's character development, there's new relationships, there's introductions to new and important characters... So please don't expect every chapter to be this chunky. This is absolutely a one-off, and that's a good thing, haha. If I were to carry on in this vein, this fic would be akin to Stephen King's 'It' in length by the end!
> 
> With that said, thank you everyone for the lovely and amazing comments in the last chapter. 
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Chapter Twelve – Four Seasons 

_Winter 1987/1988_

Things hadn’t been the same since Hannah’s party on Halloween.

When Mikkel had returned to school after the half-term break, he’d wanted to find Hannah first thing that morning to apologise for bringing up his insecurities regarding the secrecy of their friendship. He’d already been feeling rather flustered, wondering when it was exactly that his life had become a cycle of apologising over and over to one disgruntled teenage girl or the other.

He’d carefully rolled up and stored his painting of her in his backpack, ready to hand over in addition to his apology and resolve to tell her just how pretty she had in fact looked that night. It would be awkward, but he’d known Hannah would surely be delighted and smile like the sun again when he did so, and that would make the awkwardness worth it. He hadn’t even been sure if she would be irritable with him at all: she had seemed more disappointed than angry when she'd left him that night, and perhaps the events of the party had meant she’d forgotten everything that had transpired between them, anyway. But Mikkel hadn’t forgot, and if he couldn’t solve his most pressing problem at that moment, the least he could do was attempt to patch up any holes in his relationship with Hannah. Even if it meant he was still unhappy that only the two of them could know about such a relationship at all.

He hadn’t known what to expect from Hannah that morning, but one thing he certainly _hadn’t_ expected from her was a very visible and public display of affection in the middle of the school grounds.

Her long hair had been let down and hung loose again, as it had that night, a dark curtain that fell to her lower back as she’d stood on tiptoe with her arms around the neck of some older boy Mikkel hadn’t recognised. It had been all Mikkel could do to not think about when those same arms had been around his own neck. Katharina, Ulrich and a bunch of their friends were gathered around them, smoking and laughing and glancing at the couple with amusement and approval as the older boy lifted Hannah up in his arms to kiss her.

She’d been so absorbed in sucking face with that too-tall chump, she’d let Mikkel walk straight past them without even a glance, without noticing his presence at all. And so his painting had stayed rolled up and unacknowledged in his bag, where it remained for the rest of the day.

*

His ‘birthday’ had passed uneventfully a few days later. He hadn’t even told anybody when his birthday was: but then, nobody had ever asked. So it came and went, a quiet event with himself and Ines as the only attendees. There were presents, there was food, there was even a lonely bike-ride through Winden. But it wasn’t the same as riding the winding roads with Hannah alongside him, her hair a riot of russet in the wind as they went. It was all he could do to keep his mind on the road, and anything else besides Hannah’s arms around his neck, and the sight of those arms around someone else. Why did he care so much? He had _much_ more pressing matters to attend to, after all. Why should he care about somebody who clearly never really cared about him?

And then December had arrived, evident from the thick layers of snow that blanketed the world in powdery white beyond his bedroom window. A few days ago, he’d received news from school that there was to be a dance later that month, to celebrate Christmas and the winter season before the school closed for the holidays. Mikkel hadn’t needed to think twice about not informing Ines of such an event, because there was absolutely no chance that he’d be attending any school dance, in this world or the next. But somehow, his plan to keep her out of the loop had been foiled, by none other than Hannah’s father, who’d apparently mentioned it in passing to Ines while working the hospital linens.

And so it was now that he sat with Ines over breakfast on a mid-December morning, with the school dance just a few short days away, wanting nothing more than to leave the table as Ines brought up the subject for the third time that week. But this time, she wasn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer.

‘You’re going to the dance, Michael,’ she insisted over a steaming mug of coffee, ‘I won’t have it any other way. Even if it’s just for an hour or two. I remember telling you once that I was concerned about your lack of friends here in Winden, and now here we sit, a year later, and not once have you brought a schoolmate home. And that worries me. I _care_ about you, Michael, and it concerns me that I never see you having fun with any friends. Your teachers have told me you’re so quiet at school, that you never talk to anyone unless you have to. This dance might be an opportunity for you to meet people outside of your own class, outside of lessons. At least give it a try. There’s a phone in the school that you can use to call home, if you want to leave early, and I’ll drive right there and pick you up straight away, I promise. Just give it a try, please, for me.’

And cursing himself for his inability to say ‘no’ and for relenting so quickly at Ines’ hopeful expression, Mikkel begrudgingly agreed to go to the dance, very glad indeed that he now knew the home telephone number by heart, as there was no doubt in his mind that he would need it.

*

Friday the eighteenth of December arrived, and it was a perfectly glacial evening when he climbed into the car with Ines. She’d picked him out a suit and tie and gleefully snapped some photos before they’d left.

‘You look so grown up,’ Ines said with pride. Mikkel thought he looked like a lanky boy playing dress-up. Not a hint of a smile was to be seen on any of the pictures she’d taken.

Ines dropped him off outside the school at six thirty, promising to stay by the phone all night should he call, and explaining that otherwise she would pick him up at ten o’clock when the dance ended. Mikkel watched her leave, knowing that she would be sorely disappointed when she had to return within the hour to collect him, and feeling rather guilty for it too.

He’d resolved himself to sitting in the darkest corner of the school hall for half an hour, just himself and a cup of whatever non-alcoholic beverage they were serving that night, clock-watching until enough time had passed until he could find the phone and wait outside for Ines to take him home. When he entered the hall, it was already brimming with students across all years of the school, the boys sporting their best suits and the girls in their dresses in various festive shades. The hall had been decorated to fit the wintery theme, with glittering snowflakes and sparking silver streamers and tinsel arranged throughout. The middle of the room was cleared to make way for its dancing occupants, and dotted all around the edges were tables draped in white tablecloth and topped with ivory candles and garlands of holly and ivy. There were two long tables also draped in white, serving drinks and finger-food. A large Christmas tree sat in one corner, and mistletoe hung at random across the hall: some couples were already following tradition, clung to each other so fiercely Mikkel had to look away.

He inspected the room until he found the least populated table in a shadowy corner. Helping himself to a cup of virgin fruit punch along the way, he reached the table, which currently had only one occupant. When she turned to face him as he took his seat, he was surprised to find it was Charlotte, the peculiar girl who seemed to have a penchant for dead animals and was rarely seen without a sketchbook in her hands. Her light auburn hair was braided into a delicate plait, and although she wasn’t wearing any makeup, she appeared to be wearing a modest jade dress and a nervous grin as he sat down, leaving one chair free between them.

‘Oh, hello, Michael,’ she said awkwardly over the music. ‘This is fun, isn’t it?’

‘Hi, Charlotte,’ he replied, clutching his cup and gazing out across the room. ‘Um, yes, really… fun.’

The pair sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the crowd as it began to swell and the music rose to a boom that seemed to reverberate through his skull with every beat. Mikkel was just debating whether to excuse himself to go to the bathroom when Charlotte yelled over the music, ‘do you want to dance?’

Mikkel shook his head. ‘Um, I don’t dance, sorry,’ he cried back, feeling rather uncomfortable as Charlotte nodded and looked back at the crowd, her face traced with disappointment. It seemed a part of her longed to get up and enjoy herself alongside everyone else, but she was too shy to do so alone. ‘So, why are you always carrying around a sketch book and wandering around the lake looking for dead animals?’ he asked, aware of the absurdity of the question but with a desperate need to fill the awkward silence. 

‘I like to draw,’ she said with a shrug. ‘And not really dead animals. More specifically, dead birds. And because-’

Suddenly, there was a cacophony of loud voices sounding from the doors leading into the hall. Mikkel turned to find Katharina, Ulrich and a large group of their friends parading into the hall in a display of raucous laughter, with Hannah and her boyfriend bringing up the rear, holding hands as he dragged her behind him to the beverage stand.

He suddenly felt rather nauseous.

He watched as one of the boys looked around shiftily, then took a small bottle from his pocket and tipped a large quantity of the liquid into his drink before slipping it discreetly back into his pocket. Roaming his eyes back over to Hannah’s towering date, he noticed he was doing the same, pouring the liquid not only into his own drink, but into Hannah’s too. Except Hannah hadn’t noticed, because she had her back to him as she chatted animatedly with an unusually exultant and beaming Katharina. 

Mikkel might have been young, but he wasn’t so naïve as to not know exactly what he was doing, what they were all doing. They were topping up their drinks with alcohol, and it looked like a few of them had already been doing so before they had even arrived at the dance, with the way they stumbled ungracefully about the hall. Hannah turned and gratefully accepted her drink before taking a sip. Mikkel felt angry: he knew Hannah wasn’t one for drinking alcohol, that she had hinted as much when she’d spoke of her last birthday party. And he could see from the surprised expression on her face that she had not expected the taste of it, and seemed about to put the cup down on the table before her date lazily put a long arm around her small shoulders and directed her hand so that the cup was once more hovering close to her lips. Mikkel also could’ve sworn that the boy said ‘drink up’ as he did so, and Hannah begrudgingly gulped down the entire thing before he allowed her to put it down and hauled her to the dance floor in the centre of the room.

That waste of space was trying to get her drunk, Mikkel thought angrily.

He debated marching right over there and telling the stupid kid to knock it off and treat Hannah with some respect, but he knew even as he did so that such an idea was as ludicrous as it sounded: that 'kid' was much bigger than he was, and his bravery didn’t extend quite so far as to cause a scene and get his head kicked in at that very moment. And what would be the point, anyway? Hannah had seemingly forgotten he even existed, had abandoned him entirely. Hadn’t she said only a few months ago that she knew what it felt like to be abandoned? No, if she wanted to let that fool ply her with alcohol to satisfy whatever wicked intentions he had with her, so be it. It was no longer Mikkel’s place to put a stop to it. It never had been, really.

But he couldn’t take his eyes off the pair of them all night, anyway. He kept a close eye on Hannah as the minutes ticked by, watching her instead of the clock as he had intended, observing as the alcohol worked its way through her system, evident in the way she became extra giggly and high-spirited as she danced and talked with her friends. Her hair was a hypnotic wave of dark curls whirling through the room as she danced. It was just as her reprehensible date was topping up her second drink with more alcohol that he realised where he was and that Charlotte was still sitting silently beside him. It was the arrival of Regina at their table that had snapped him back to reality, looking radiant in an elegant crimson dress as she took the seat between them.

‘Well, you two look like you’re having fun,’ Regina said with a slight grin as she took a sip of her drink. Her lips were painted in scarlet to match her dress. ‘Hi Charlotte. You look lovely. And Michael, you look so grown-up!’

‘You do too,’ Mikkel answered without thinking, still watching Hannah from the corner of his eye. ‘Erm, I mean, you look... really nice, not grown-up. I mean, you don’t look _not_ grown-up. I just meant-‘

Regina laughed airily. ‘Thanks, Michael. I get it. Ugh, I didn’t even want to come to this stupid dance, not after… you know, and not with these people. But then I saw this dress while I was out shopping with Alex, and I just couldn’t resist! Alex wasn’t too enthusiastic: he thinks most people here are fools, and he’s right, of course, but he’ll do anything to make me happy, especially after… well, after everything. So he drove me here and he’s picking me up later.’ She took another large gulp of her drink, then said, ‘so, who fancies a dance?’

Mikkel shook his head, and Regina turned to Charlotte. ‘Charlotte? Ready to show these idiots how it’s done?’

Charlotte shrugged, but there was a tell-tale grin on her face as she said, ‘well, okay then.’ She stood and as Regina lead her to the floor, looked back and said, ‘it was nice talking to you, Michael,’ even though they’d barely spoken at all. Mikkel offered her a polite smile and a small wave as they disappeared into the throng of people now filling the dance floor. He could no longer see Hannah or any of her questionable friends. Glancing at the clock, he sighed and decided to spend a few minutes in quiet solitude outside, before heading back inside to call Ines.

When he exited the door and arrived outside, however, he found he wasn’t alone.

Hannah, of all people, was sat on the ground beside the wall, arms wrapped around her legs and head down. Mikkel paused. He could slip back inside now, unnoticed, and just call Ines. It would be as easy as that. But he knew he couldn’t. With a sigh that was accompanied by a bout of nausea, he settled himself beside Hannah, leaning against the wall and stretching out his long legs in front of him. It was a few seconds before Hannah finally looked up to face him, and he was alarmed to find she had quite clearly been crying. Her eyes were red and watery, and there was a smudge of black mascara beneath her left eye.

Why was it that he kept finding himself in the presence of crying teenaged girls?

She didn’t appear surprised to find him sitting there. It seemed to take her a few seconds to focus her eyes, to make out the figure beside her. Whether from the tears or intoxication, Mikkel wasn’t sure. It was likely both.

When she finally recognised who had come to join her outside, she said simply, voice a little wobbly, ‘oh, I thought you were Nikolas.’

Mikkel figured that must be the name of the boy she now saved all her smiles for, and the boy who had been plying her drinks with alcohol all night. He tried not to look offended. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Oh, yes, I’m fabulous. Actually, I've never been better, clearly!’ she spat sardonically. Then she sighed and put her head in her hands. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m drunk.’

‘I know,’ Mikkel said quietly. 'What are you doing out here?'

‘I felt sick. And me and Nik, we just had a little argument, that’s all. I just needed some air.’

Mikkel bit his lip, debating whether to say what was on his mind. Her glanced at her, head still down and hidden as her hair draped around her. ‘You can do better than him, Hannah. He doesn’t seem very nice.’

‘Oh, really? _Can_ I?’ Hannah lifted her head to look up at him, eyes flashing furiously. ‘Tell me, then, who do you think would be better for me, hmm? Yourself?’

Mikkel blanched. ‘Well, obviously not me… but there must be someone better than _him_. How did this all happen, anyway?’ he continued, hoping she knew what he meant.

Hannah sighed and stared out at the grounds hazily. ‘It all happened at my party back on Halloween. Nikolas is one of Ulrich’s buddies, you know. And Jurgen’s best friend. Jurgen’s basically the local drug dealer, although apparently Nik gets the best weed, not that I would know, as much as he’s tried to convince me to try it. I thought I always wanted to, because Ulrich always does it and it seemed so cool, but… it didn’t feel right. I didn’t like how he was pressuring me. Nik wasn’t happy about it though. Lately it feels like he wants a lot of things from me that I’m not ready to give yet.’

It seemed to Mikkel like she wasn’t really talking about the weed anymore, but he didn’t really want to think about what she might be referring to instead. ‘So why waste your time with him if he makes you feel like that?’

‘Because he gives me attention, why else? Because finally someone noticed me at my party, because he said how _hot_ I looked with my hair down like that. I guess I have you to thank for that, for putting the idea in my head to try wearing it like that for a change.’ Mikkel wanted to kick himself. ‘And now, Katharina and Ulrich and everyone treat me different, less like a kid and more like one of them. I’m more relevant than I’ve ever been before, which I thought was what I always wanted, and yet…’

‘And yet?’ Mikkel pressed.

Hannah sighed and then laughed derisively. ‘And yet nothing. Everything’s great, honestly. I’m just drunk and rambling. You wouldn’t understand. Why don’t you go back inside? I’m sure Regina and Charlotte will be missing you.’

So she’d noticed him at some point that night. How had he missed that? He’d barely taken his eyes off her all night.

‘Look, Hannah. I still think you could do better. But what do I know, I’m just a kid, right? I wouldn’t understand. And if he really makes you happy, then I’m happy for you, honestly. And I’ll stay out of your life, which is obviously what you want now you’ve got everything you wanted. But it seems to me that if he really made you happy, you wouldn’t have been sat out here alone, crying.’

He pushed himself up from the floor, Hannah looking smaller than ever beneath him, arms still wrapped around her legs. ‘I have to go back inside,’ he said, ready to call Ines. ‘Good luck with... everything.’

‘Wait!’ Hannah cried, stumbling as she stood and reached for his hand. At that moment, Regina and Charlotte came bouncing out of the door, giggling and holding hands and looking positively jubilant. Hannah dropped his hand. 

‘Michael, there you are!’ Regina exclaimed, rushing over to him, Charlotte in tow. ‘We’ve been looking everywhere for you! Come back inside and have a dance with us, it’s actually a lot of fun if you pretend everyone else isn’t there!’ She noticed Hannah then, who was watching Regina with mild contempt as she wobbled on the spot, still dizzy with intoxication and the sudden movement. ‘Oh, hello, Hannah. This is fun, isn’t it? Although, just between us, but I’d go back inside if I were you. Your boyfriend is getting a bit too close with Sofia, if you know what I mean. You might want to go and check on him.’

Hannah looked ready for a drunken dispute at that, but then Regina pulled Mikkel in for a hug and planted a kiss on his cheek. Even Charlotte giggled and followed suit, kissing him lightly on the other cheek. Hannah looked absolutely livid. Mikkel wanted to die right there and then, blushing intensely as he longed for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. But then Regina took his hand, and Charlotte took the other, and they dragged him back inside, leaving Hannah alone outside. He cast her one last look before he disappeared beyond the doors. She looked almost hurt, on the verge of tears once more. It didn’t sit well with Mikkel to leave her like that, but then the doors closed behind him and seconds later he was back in the hall.

‘You can thank us later!’ Regina shouted over the reverberating beat of the music that filled the room. ‘That looked like a situation you needed to get away from. Sure you don’t want to dance?’ She pointed to the dance floor over her shoulder, and Mikkel shook his head. ‘Fair enough. You know where we are if you change your mind!’ She took Charlotte’s hand and lead her back into the crowd. Mikkel had to admire her confidence and defiance of all these people who had seemingly treated her with nothing but unkindness all her life as she pushed through them to find a spot on the floor. Although everyone seemed to be having such a good time, they barely cast neither her nor Charlotte a glance.

Mikkel scoped the room, and his eyes landed on Nikolas, who was indeed looking very cosy in a corner with a girl Mikkel didn’t know but thought might be a year or two above him in school. Hannah was nowhere to be found, presumably still outside.

Trying to push down the fresh wave of anger he now felt, he continued to appraise the room, noticing that a small crowd had formed at one of the tables. Hovering on the side-lines, he went to check it out.

A boy around Mikkel’s age, maybe slightly older, with sandy-hair and a suit that was too big for him was brandishing a deck of cards to an audience member and asking them to choose any card. Mikkel couldn’t help but move a bit closer as he watched a girl select a card and hide it from view behind a closed hand as she observed her choice.

‘Hmmm,’ the boy said as he placed a finger animatedly to his lips and raised his eyes to the ceiling in a show of thought. ‘I wonder… could it be the three of spades?’

The girl nodded delightedly and handed the card back to him as the crowd clapped. Mikkel was stood almost beside him by the time the boy had demonstrated a few more card tricks, one of which had him levitating a card into his hand and which drew an extra loud applause from those gathered around the table. The boy stood and gave them all a whimsical bow of appreciation, but before he could resume his seat, Mikkel said, ‘could… could I have a go?’

He wasn’t sure what he was doing, or why he was drawing attention to himself like this, but such an opportunity to show-off his skills had urged him as clearly as those caves in the forest had urged him that first night in 1986, when he’d so naïvely tried to make his escape.

The boy nodded graciously as he offered Mikkel his seat with a flourish. Some of the crowd chuckled and snickered as he sat. Someone even whistled. Mikkel wondered if they were all drunk.

He took two empty drink cups from the table, and picked a large berry from a garland of holly that circled one of the candles. He placed it under one of the cups, and with ease he performed perhaps one of the best tricks in his repertoire, magically shifting the berry from one cup to the other with only two taps. The crowd cheered appreciatively when he’d finished.

‘That was cool, where did you learn that one?’ the sandy-haired boy asked curiously.

‘I’m from the future,’ Mikkel said plainly, and the crowd laughed at what they assumed was a whimsical joke. The boy smiled widely as another figure in the crowd stepped forward and said, ‘I want a go!’

Mikkel and the sandy-haired boy stood back as the other boy took the now empty seat and began to fumble with the cups and the cards, failing miserably at any sleight of hand. The crowd began to dissolve, but the boy beside Mikkel turned to him with an extended hand and said, ‘I’m Max. What’s your name?’

Mikkel took his hand and shook it as he replied, ‘Michael. Those were some nice tricks you pulled off there.’

‘Thanks, and well, I’m just starting out, you see. It was my fourteenth birthday last month, and my mama got me this magic trick set. I’ve been practicing ever since. Figured this was a good place to showcase my meagre skills. That lot were easily impressed, though.’ He tipped his head to where the now vanished crowd had once stood. The boy at the table still sat, alone and looking frustrated as he lifted up a cup to find the berry still sitting there. ‘You’ll have to teach me that trick of yours, though, that was pretty cool.’

Mikkel wasn’t sure how long it was that he stood there talking with Max, but all too soon his new acquaintance was checking his watch. ‘Well, I have to go. Papa’s picking me up just before ten. Glad to have met you, Michael. Hopefully we’ll see each other at school after the holidays? Enjoy the rest of your night. It looks like you’ve been having a good time, anyway.’ He clapped Mikkel on the shoulder before giving him a wink and disappearing from the hall. It was only a few minutes later that he realised it was almost ten o’clock, and the hall had already began to disperse for the night. Katharina, Ulrich and their cronies had long since left. Mikkel suspected there was some house party or another they were scheduled to attend for the rest of the night.

He bid goodbye to Charlotte and Regina, who themselves appeared to be readying themselves to leave. They seemed to have had a good night, and were getting on marvellously. Mikkel was pleased for them both. He didn’t see Hannah again as he crossed the school grounds to find Ines waiting in her car.

It wasn’t until they arrived home and walked into the light of the kitchen that Ines turned and almost yelped at the sight of him. She walked towards him and put a thumb to his cheek. It came away stained with scarlet. She gave him a knowing smile. ‘Well, you had a good time tonight, at least. That much is clear. Ready for hot cocoa and bed?’

Mikkel raced to the bathroom and almost recoiled at his reflection in the mirror. On his left cheek was a lipstick stain, the tell-tale ghost of Regina’s kiss earlier that night shining bright on his skin beneath the bathroom light. That explained the chuckles and snickers from the crowd, and Max’s odd parting comment, Mikkel realised with a lurch of his stomach. He washed his face roughly, until his cheeks were red raw but no trace of lipstick remained. He felt extremely embarrassed, and was more than grateful when Ines didn’t bring it up again as she placed his hot cocoa on his bedside table. She kissed him on the forehead and switched off the main light as she left the room. Only the bedside lamp glowed dimly now.

That was three times tonight that he had been kissed. Of course, from Ines it was a familial, motherly kiss goodnight, and from Regina and Charlotte, well, those had simply been platonic kisses from friends who were having a good time.

But still, he thought bitterly as he sipped his cocoa and waited for the lull of sleep to take over, there was one girl whose kiss he might’ve been in less of a hurry to wash away. His stomach lurched not unpleasantly at the realisation, but he ignored it and gulped down the rest of his cocoa. No, he thought as he settled under the covers. No, instead, she was probably kissing somebody else right now. Kissing a waste-of-space who didn’t appreciate or respect her as he should, someone who was older than him and had far more experience than he had with such things. Which was none at all.

But, Mikkel reminded himself, she’d made her choice, had told him she was happy, despite what he’d seen tonight. And that’s all he cared about: that she was happy. There was nothing else to all this, no other reason why he had felt a surge of anger whenever he had looked at that chump, whenever he had watched him put his hands on her tonight.

With a final yawn, his head hit the pillow and the world became only darkness.

_*_

Another quiet Christmas came and went, and upon his return to school after the holidays, Mikkel came across Max in the school grounds, talking to a girl with a similar shade of sandy hair. Max waved him over when he noticed Mikkel hovering nervously nearby, debating whether to approach him or not.

‘Michael!’ he said with a smile as Mikkel landed beside them. ‘Good to see you. This is my annoying little sister, Clara,’ he added, trying to push her away. ‘She’s only eleven and already so annoying that even her friends don’t want to hang out with her.’

Clara blushed furiously and glanced shyly at Mikkel before retorting, ‘I’m _twelve_ , actually. And they _do_ want to hang out with me! They’re just both off sick today.’

‘Yes, off sick from having to deal with you all day every day. Now go away or I’m going to tell papa I caught you smoking cigarettes after school. Go on! Go away!’

Clara grumbled under her breath as she left, throwing Max a rude gesture with a finger as she went. Max caught it and shouted ‘Oi! What would Ben think if he saw you being so un-ladylike!’ He turned back to Mikkel to explain. ‘Ben is this boy in her class she never stops gushing about. It’s embarrassing, really. And our papa is kind of scary. He’s the police chief in Winden. Very strict. He’d probably lock us up and throw away the key if he caught either of us smoking. Or drinking. Or having fun. Or, you know, breathing when he deems it inappropriate to do so.’

The two of them spent the rest of the morning talking, before they were interrupted by the school bell and the signal for the start of classes. Mikkel learned that Max also had two more sisters, three-year-old twins, and his mama was a homemaker who spent her days looking after the twins and obsessively cleaning the house as though a visit from the Queen of England were imminent. He had a small group of friends, but none whom had any interest in magic or illusion as Mikkel had. And Mikkel was more than impressed when Max revealed he knew of Houdini, and he too felt him to be the world’s greatest magician: Mikkel had felt like he was beginning to lose his connection to that side of him, the side that had longed to one day follow in his idol’s footsteps. It had begun to feel like magic was only for Mikkel, and that painting was the hobby of choice for Michael. It was an invisible line that separated the two. But maybe it didn’t have to be that way. Maybe he could be both. Maybe he could do both.

When the signal sounded, Max agreed to ride home with Mikkel, and suggested that maybe they could stop off at the lake along the way and swap tips and tricks. And Mikkel felt that perhaps Ines had been right after all: perhaps he _had_ made a friend at the school dance. And it was a much needed distraction for him. Especially from any thoughts of Hannah, who walked into school just as the signal rang, hand-in-hand with Nikolas and looking utterly miserable. She tried to catch Mikkel’s eye as she passed, but Mikkel ignored her and absorbed himself in his conversation with Max instead. But he couldn’t help but think of the painting of her he still had in his room, rolled up and forgotten in his desk draw.

*

_Spring 1988_

Before Mikkel knew it, the snow became rain, the powdery snow turned into sludge and the silvery scope of Winden made way for the beginnings of blossoming flora. And on March third, Mikkel turned thirteen. A significant birthday that once again went by unacknowledged and unknown by anyone other than himself.

Much like last year, he now stood before his bedroom mirror, inspecting and analysing every detail of this newly-teenaged reflection that stared right back at him.

It was a strange feeling, to become a teenager in a world where your entire identity was shrouded in mystery, where everything down to your true name and age was as ambiguous to yourself as the future that lay before you. As the ‘baby’ of the family, his mama had always told him she’d never wanted him to grow up, dreaded the day she became a mother to three teenagers. Wanted him to remain her ‘little man’, always.

And in some ways, she’d gotten her wish.

She’d never met her teenaged son, her ‘little man’ that was now growing up alongside her instead. Not while knowing it, at least. If a future continued to exist parallel to this present, this past, he wondered what she would make of him now. Would she cry upon seeing that her ‘little man’ wasn’t quite so little anymore?

Would his siblings still treat him like a baby? He was growing taller than ever these days. Would he one day become taller even than Magnus? Was he starting to look more like him now? It was becoming hard to remember his face. Or perhaps he looked more like his uncle, if he had had a chance to grow up? People had always seemed to think they looked alike.

If he’d never travelled back in time, what would his papa think of him? Would he be proud? Would he still kiss him on the forehead every morning before breakfast, or would he be too old for that now? Would he be playfully teasing him about girls and puberty as he had done with Magnus? Would he still encourage him to pursue his hobby in magic and illusion, or persuade him to take an interest in other, more ‘grown-up’ activities?

Would Elisabeth Doppler still think of him as a ‘show-off’? Would she still harbour a supposed secret crush on him?

It had begun to seem to Mikkel that these were questions that would forever remain unanswered, that in fact never had an answer at all.

Because his potential future now remained only a remnant of his past, the life of Mikkel Nielsen merely a story that remained incomplete, abandoned only eleven chapters in. There was no story written that told of the adventures of a boy who became a teenager in 2021 instead of 1988 and lived a normal life, free from time travel.

Maybe that had been the author’s plan all along. But why? And who or what was this elusive author? God? Or something else? And who was he to become instead? Was there still any kind of future out there for him? Would his story have a happy ending after all?

But that was where the eternal fog in his brain refused to lift. It was too hard to put those pieces together.

And it hurt too much to try.

*

As his ‘real’ birthday fell on a Thursday, he headed into school that spring morning, parking his bike before slipping through the doors, planning on dumping a book in his locker before heading back outside to look for Regina and Charlotte: Max and his class were on a school trip today, a day out to a museum in Marburg.

Something was poking out of the gap in his locker door, however: something thin, like a leaf of paper had been slotted inside. He opened the door and pulled out what appeared to be a handwritten note:

_Michael,_

_I’m sorry for being a horrible friend. I never deserved to call you a friend, anyway. And I’m not a very nice person. But I felt like I could be one, when I was with you._

_You were right about Nikolas. He isn’t a nice person, either. But maybe two bad people don’t make a good match. We broke up._

_Anyway, I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry. If you’re the person I think you are, please let me apologise in person after school today. Meet me at the usual spot at the lake. Try not to keep me waiting this time. But, I’ll wait as long as I have to._

_We don’t have to be friends again. I know you have new friends now, anyway. And I will understand if you never want to talk to me again after this. But please give me a chance to say sorry in person, so I don’t have to keep feeling so damn guilty._

_I miss you._

_Hannah_

Mikkel looked up and scanned the hall, as though he might find Hannah stood there watching him holding the note in his hands. He could see a blonde head that could well have been Katharina, and certainly he recognised the girls she was with as her usual clique. But there was no sign of Hannah.

He hadn’t seen her at all this morning. In fact, he hadn’t seen her all week. Had she really written this note? 

There was only one way he was going to find out.

*

At last he caught sight of Regina and Charlotte outside. As he was making his way over to them, however, he was stopped midway by a now-familiar face.

‘Hi, Michael,’ Clara said, smiling shyly as she stood before him.

Max’s sister had seemed to make a habit of lingering close by to Mikkel and her brother whenever she could, her two best friends always giggling alongside and watching them from the corners of their eyes. That was, until Max told them to ‘get lost’, at least.

‘Hi, Clara,’ Mikkel said, noticing Regina and Charlotte watching this exchange not too far away and looking rather amused.

Clara was pink in the face as she twirled a strand of her sandy hair between her fingers and glanced up at him with large brown eyes. ‘Do you want to hang out today, now Max isn’t around to get in the way? Maybe we could do something after school?’

‘Um, that’s a really nice idea, Clara, but I have plans. Maybe another time.’

Clara dropped her hand, looking disappointed. ‘Oh… okay. Do you have plans with your girlfriend?’

‘Er… no, I don’t have a girlfriend. See you later, Clara,’ Mikkel answered, in a hurry to get away.

Clara made as if to stop him from leaving, but when Mikkel was already several steps away, settled instead on shouting to his back, ‘bye, Michael! Let’s hang out soon!’, before returning to join her giggling friends.

‘I think Clara has a crush on you, Michael,’ Regina observed with a smile upon his arrival.

‘No, she doesn’t,’ Mikkel answered promptly, alarmed at the very idea.

‘If you say so. Anyway,’ she said, turning back to Charlotte, ‘Charlotte was just telling me about her date with Peter tonight.’

‘It’s not a date, Regina! We’re just friends. But… I don't know. I think maybe I could like him. Just a little bit.’ Charlotte was as pink in the cheeks as Clara had been.

Mikkel had a sudden thought.

‘Listen, Charlotte. Could you maybe not hang around the lake this afternoon? I just… I just could do with keeping our spot free, that’s all.’

Mikkel had spent more time with Charlotte in recent weeks, since he and Regina had grown closer. And as Charlotte and Regina had now also become firm friends, by extension Charlotte had become a friend of Mikkel's. As a result, he’d learned that Charlotte was a keen artist also, perhaps not in the same way as himself, but rather with pencil to paper, sketching anything and everything that intrigued her. He’d also learned that her interest in dead animals, or rather, dead birds, had spawned from her discovery of some unusual spots and feathering found on some of those said birds. Although she hadn’t found anything else of note recently, she continued to comb Winden’s landscape in an effort to find any other unusual discoveries. Mikkel privately though that if she was looking for anymore unexplained mysteries here in Winden, working a little closer to the caves might be a good place to start, but he’d never told her as much. And since he and Hannah no longer spoke, the three of them, often joined by Max, had taken to occupying the usual spot beside the lake, which now remained secluded besides themselves. But Mikkel knew there was a chance that Charlotte could stumble upon himself and Hannah should she decide to go on a search for oddly-marked dead birds again this afternoon. And that might give Hannah pause in saying whatever it was she was planning to say. 

‘Sure. I’m not sure what Peter has planned for later though. Why?’

‘Erm, it’s nothing important. I just really want to paint the lake between seasons, and I work best when not interrupted by anyone investigating every corner of Winden for anything out of place.’

Little did Charlotte know, something, or rather, someone, who was very much out of place (and time) stood right before her, Mikkel thought darkly. He offered her a small smile despite himself.

‘A likely story. I reckon Michael’s got a secret date with Clara on the cards.’ Regina gave him a wink and nudged him softly.

‘Definitely not.’

‘Well, you’ve got a date with someone. Why else would you need to be so secretive about it?’

*

‘You came,’ Hannah said, rising from the log as he parked his bike and approached her later that afternoon.

‘I guess I’m the person you thought I was, after all,’ he said, trying to smile but finding he was unable to: Hannah looked rather thin and tired and even paler than usual, as if even her clustering freckles had diminished under the winter skies these past months. And she still wore her long dark hair down and loose, overpowering her now too-small frame and contrasting too sharply with her pale skin.

‘I guess you are.’ She was wringing her hands and looking at him nervously.

‘So…’ Mikkel said, looking around and wondering what was the right thing to say in this situation, what Hannah might be wanting or expecting him to say.

‘Right. So. I, uh, well… I just wanted to say… you know. Well, I just wanted…’.

Whatever she was wanting to say seemed to be almost causing her some kind of physical pain as she fought to get the words out. Mikkel sighed. ‘It’s okay, Hannah. Your letter said enough. You don’t need to apologise again.’

‘No! I _want_ to say it. I’m… I’m just not used to meaning it, I suppose.’ She sat back on the log and Mikkel joined her, leaving a more than acceptable space between them. ‘But.. I really _am_ sorry. For everything. Sorry for being a bad friend. Sorry for giving you a hard time about Nikolas, and about our… well, about our friendship and all that. And I’m sorry for abandoning you at the first chance I got. I’m pathetic, I know. The first bit of attention I got and I ran away with it like nothing else mattered. Because I’m… well, in truth, I’ve never had a boy like me before. Not like that. People would forget I even exist if it wasn’t for my friends, and even then I’ve always felt like the odd one out. Boys always look at them. No one ever looked at me until that night at the party. And I just got lost in it. The attention, I mean. And then you and Regina seemed so… friendly, and she’s so completely unlike me. Don’t ever tell anyone I said this, but she’s smart like you. She seemed like a much better friend for you than I could ever be. She wouldn’t need to hide you from everyone else. And… she’s probably a better person than I could ever be. I’m not kind and smart and good like you two are. I mean, honestly, you’re younger than me yet it seems like you’ve got everything figured out. How to not care what people think, to just go along being a good person regardless. But I… I worry. About being forgotten. About being abandoned. Sometimes I think, if I died today, no one would really care.’

Mikkel wasn’t sure he was breathing anymore. He’d never known Hannah to open up to him like this. After all, he remained so private about his own life with her, it was only reasonable that she would be the same. An agreement of their friendship, he supposed. _A question asked for a question answered_. Not that they had been sticking much to that little rule. Instead they just refrained from asking too many personal questions at all.

But the way she was looking at him now, so thin and pale, with those tell-tale purple halfmoons shadowing her eyes: it reminded Mikkel of how he had looked when he’d first begun living with Ines, when sleep had been nothing more than a departed old friend and he was haunted every moment by his own unpleasant contemplations. And this apology, this confession, it seemed much too genuine, too real, to be anything other than raw honesty, a glimmer of truth that hid far beneath that often icy façade. And that last fear she’d revealed to him… he’d often had the same miserable thought himself.

‘You’re not pathetic, Hannah. And people _would_ care. Your papa would care. _I_ would care. But please don’t ever say anything like that again.’ He shifted on the log, moving closer to her as he did so. ‘Is all this why you haven’t been at school this week?’

She laughed humourlessly and looked out across the lake without really seeing it. ‘I never really did deserve you as a friend. And I’ve just not been feeling well. I’ll be back next week…’. She hesitated, then went on, ‘you know, Nikolas broke up with me because… well, you’re too young to really understand. And too good to be anything like him when the time comes for you, I’m sure. But he… he tried to make me do things with him that I didn’t want to. And I’m not talking about drinking or smoking. And I just didn’t feel ready. So in the end, he broke up with me because of it. Not that it made much difference: he was busying himself with half the girls in Winden when he was with me, anyway. It was humiliating. But I guess that’s what I deserve: to be humiliated.’

Mikkel felt sick. Every assumption he’d ever made about that idiot had been true: and he hated him for making Hannah feel this way. He didn’t think he’d ever hated someone before. But now he could feel it, pulsing through his blood and making him want to get up and kick the log or punch the nearest wall he could find, even though he’d never thrown a punch in his life. ‘Hannah. You’re a good person. I know it. Maybe you’ve done bad things in the past… I don’t know, and I don’t really care. Ines… my mama… she always says, "the past is the past and now is now". I know you can be kind and smart and good when you want to be. I think you could be anything you wanted to be if you stopped worrying about what everyone else thinks.’

Hannah stood, and Mikkel followed suit reflexively. She was looking at him now in a way she never had before, and something about it left his stomach lurching like it might when you miss a step and prepare to fall, except this time he wanted to fall. Welcomed it, even.

For one wild moment, Mikkel thought Hannah was going to kiss him. She took another step towards him, close enough now that he could see the ghosts of her freckles and the tears beginning to well in her eyes. But then she closed her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. It felt less awkward this time, as he wrapped his arms around her and let her melt into his embrace as he did the same. That familiar smell of cinnamon enveloped him as a light breeze stirred her hair. Why was she so damn small? This time, it felt more like he was keeping her safe, as opposed to the other way around, as it had the last time they’d stood like this, when the world felt like it was just the two of them for a few moments.

‘Are we still friends?’ she said after a while, voice muffled as she spoke into his shoulder.

Mikkel sighed with relief as he held her just a little tighter, pulled her just a little closer. ‘Of course we are. Never think anything else.’

*

_Summer 1988_

Months had passed since his reunion with Hannah, and Mikkel had found himself in a complicated and strange sort of limbo in life.

It was rolling towards the end of July: school was out until September, and the sun was a bright and permanent fixture that resided day after day amongst endless blue skies.

But he’d made a sudden realisation recently: he had _friends_. He was still hopelessly quiet during lessons, still going unnoticed and by all means considered the ‘weird’ kid at school: his friends, at least those that were known to others, were hardly considered paragons of popularity themselves. Even Max was somewhat of a social pariah, despite having a few other friends. But he was easy-going in a way that meant he rarely drew attention to himself in a way that people would call him out on it.

But Mikkel didn’t care about any of that: he had friends, and whether that was sensible or not considering his situation, it felt good. And they might have been a rather different group to the otherwise popular and outgoing circle of friends he’d once had, but they engaged him in ways he’d never known before; Max, with his easy-going outlook and proclivity for magic and trickery; Regina, with her kindness and determination to rise above those who still snickered and yelled taunts that followed her down the school halls; Charlotte, with her interest in art and thirst for knowledge regarding the world and the secrets it held.

And moreover, he had Hannah back in his life. Hannah, with her hazel eyes that looked more green than brown when the sun shone too bright, whose smile and laughter had his stomach flipping in pleasant somersaults that he still refused to acknowledge or understand. Refused to understand why she had that effect on him, or what it could mean: a small part of him knew the answer would scare him. Hannah, with her love of photography and appreciation for his art and her endless shared daydreams about a world without Winden, or what she’d like to do with her life when she finally escaped its clutches.

And she was looking much better these days, without Nikolas to bring her down: no longer too thin, eyes alert and shadow-free, her freckles darker than ever as they bronzed beneath a baking sun. Even Mikkel was looking darker, his skin tanned and hair flecked with gold after so many hours spent outside with his friends: no longer cooped up all alone inside the walls of the house.

And it was hard, sometimes, to feel miserable, when your days consisted of bike rides through a lush forest town, wind in your hair and laughter in your ears, eating lunch beneath a golden sun, beside an endless, sparkling lake, painting and talking and just… being. Being in the moment. Mikkel had found he’d even begun to learn more about life in the eighties, about the music and books and television and gadgets that teenagers enjoyed here. Even if he did slip up now and then by mentioning some media or technology that was yet to exist, to be met only with looks of exasperation and confusion, before playing it off as a bad joke or whimsical notion. He’d even begun to appreciate some of the things this new life had to offer. The music wasn't all that bad at all. 

And there were moments, sometimes, when life didn’t seem too bad. Moments when he forgot, just for a second, that this wasn’t where he belonged. Moments when he forgot that these people were likely to become the parents of his old friends, or his siblings’ friends.

Moments when his old life felt like just a dream: a long, all too real dream.

*

Today, Mikkel was riding his bike through the winding Winden roads, on his way to meet Regina and Aleksander for a long-anticipated dinner.

She’d given him the address, and when he parked his bike outside the home she now shared with Aleksander, he couldn’t help but remark at how pleasant and well-off a home and neighbourhood Regina lived in. Everything about it suggested to Mikkel that money was not an issue in Regina’s world. But that didn’t erase the adversities he knew she’d faced this past year.

‘Michael!’

Regina came bursting through the front door, beaming as she reeled him in for a warm hug. ‘Goodness, you’re taller than me now!’ She stood back, still glowing as she observed his obvious growth spurt over the summer.

She was wearing a sunny, loose blouse and shorts that exposed rather a lot of her slim, bronzed legs. Mikkel tried not to glance at them, knowing it would surely be inappropriate to do so. But there was something strangely fascinating about the bare skin and the curve of her legs, so different in shape and form from his own. He marveled at how he’d never noticed this before. The realisation that he was trying not to gawk at any part of a woman’s body, especially Regina’s, made him feel rather guilty. He wondered if that guilt was written all over his face.

Regina didn’t seem to notice anything, however. ‘We’re having dinner in the garden, if that’s alright. It’s such a lovely day, after all. Aleksander is already out there: he’s just finishing up setting the table. Come on.’ She gestured for him to follow her inside, and he did so, feeling inexplicably nervous.

Aleksander was indeed out in the garden, filling some glasses with orange juice on a quaint table beside some neatly pruned rosebushes. Everything from the house to the garden was so well-presented, so clean and organised and pleasant despite the losses Regina had suffered last summer, despite the suffering she must surely still be feeling yet so rarely discussed.

‘Nice to see you again, Michael,’ Aleksander said politely, shaking Mikkel’s hand before everyone took a seat. ‘You look well.’

‘You too,’ Mikkel returned, and meaning it too. Mikkel had met Aleksander on a few occasions now: being friends with Regina, he often saw him in passing whenever he came to the school or the lake to pick up Regina, often sharing very brief, polite discussions with him all the while. Aleksander, on the whole, however, was still rather a mystery to Mikkel. He knew little about his life, neither before nor after he had arrived in Winden back in 1986, merely days after Mikkel himself. And he couldn’t help but feel a little apprehensive whenever he was around him: what Katharina and Ulrich had said that day about him having a gun would ring in his head like a freshly shot bullet. But it wasn’t only Regina that had switched up her appearance: Aleksander, too, was looking much more clean-cut and polished these days. They both dressed well, and lived in this lovely house, after all. And Aleksander seemed to be a hard-worker: Regina had often lamented how many hours he spent at the power plant, however proud of him she might be for achieving so much in such little time.

After several minutes of pleasantries and trivial chatter, Regina and Aleksander headed inside to bring out the food, insisting Mikkel remain seated and not to worry about helping out. They had a pleasant meal, which to Mikkel’s surprise included a serving of Toast Hawaii (‘it’s a summer treat!’ Regina had exclaimed), and talking about nothing too important, such as Regina’s frequent thoughts about turning vegetarian (‘but the animals!’ she had said, as she'd took a bite from her Toast Hawaii, topped with a slice of ham). And Mikkel found that despite his apprehensions regarding Aleksander, he was actually rather good-natured.

When they had cleared their plates and the chatter had begun to die down, Aleksander poured himself and Regina a glass of wine, before offering Mikkel a glass of his own. Mikkel had never tasted wine before, and he worried that if he disliked it, perhaps he might offend them, so he politely refused.

‘I have to head into work early tomorrow, Regina,’ Aleksander announced, taking a sip of his drink. ‘Bastian Wöller is away on holiday: him and his wife just took the kids to France. Benjamin and Torben, an odd pair of boys, I have to say. Wöller’s a good man, though. Really helped me find my feet at the plant. Anyway, it slipped under the books, and we need to organise an extra pair of hands to cover him until he gets back. I said I’d do a few extra hours for the next couple of weeks to help out.’

Regina merely fixed him with a disappointed stare. Aleksander sighed guiltily before explaining himself.

‘I need to make the best impression I can, Regina. I really think I could make something of myself at the plant. Besides, it’s just for a couple of weeks. And after everything that happened with Jasmin, we lost a fair few of the staff. We’re still trying to fill positions to this day, and things are a little strained right now.’

‘What happened to Jasmin?’ Mikkel asked Aleksander curiously, but instead he looked uneasily to Regina to answer Mikkel’s question.

Regina took a lengthy swig of her own drink before answering. ‘Jasmin was my mother’s secretary at the power plant. She… she was killed back in September. It was horrible. We still don’t know who did it. It scared a lot of the plant staff away, after it happened. Nervous, after my mother went missing, then Jasmin being murdered… and she was pregnant, too. I just don’t… don’t understand why anyone would do such an awful thing. And I can’t stop feeling like it had something to do with my mother… if perhaps… if perhaps she met the same fate, and I don’t even know it. If it was covered up somehow. She was a very important woman in Winden. It wouldn’t surprise me if she had enemies that I didn’t know about… there was so much I didn’t know about my own mother.’

Regina looked down, holding back tears as she wrung her hands on the table. Mikkel couldn’t help but notice that her wrists and arms were streaked with many small, fading scars. Aleksander reached across the table to take one of Regina’s hands in his own, face etched with concern.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, voice wobbly as she used one hand to wipe at her eyes, squeezing Aleksander’s outstretched hand with the other. She smiled lightly. ‘It’s selfish of me to sit here feeling sorry for myself when we invited you here for a nice dinner, Michael. Especially considering you both have your own hardships. Michael, I know you live with your adoptive mama, I told Aleksander all about that, I hope you don’t mind. And Alex... well, why don’t you tell Michael a bit more about yourself, how it was you came to Winden.’

Aleksander looked rather uncomfortable at the suggestion, but Regina gave him an encouraging nod, and he readied himself to divulge his own story.

‘Well… I grew up in foster care. I went from home to home, never really knowing where I belonged. My mother was a prostitute, hopelessly poor, and I have no idea who my father was. So I was put into care. This was in East Germany, mind, and life was hard. East Berlin… it’s a communist state. Everything is controlled, and there are shortages of everything, from food to clothing, even cars. There are spies everywhere, watching every move you make, documenting everything. Your post is read before you can even read it yourself. Telephones are tapped. You feel trapped, like a bird in a cage. So, almost two years ago now, I fled over the Berlin wall. And I got shot. That’s when Regina found me.’

Regina’s eyes shone with pride as she smiled at him sympathically from across the table.

‘I know you’ve probably heard rumours about me, Michael,’ Aleksander went on, dragging his eyes away from Regina and back to Mikkel. ‘But it was only for my own protection, that I had that gun with me that day. I had to take every precaution to keep myself alive. Escaping your past isn’t easy.’

*

A short while later, Regina stood to announce she was heading inside to wash the dishes, and when the boys jumped up to help, Regina refused them and insisted they get back in their chairs. ‘We don’t need three of us to wash a few dishes. Besides, I think you two could do with some time to get to know each other without having me in the way. Now, hand me your plates.’

They did as they were told, and when Regina had left, an awkward silence fell upon the garden. The rosebushes stirred in a light, warm breeze. Mikkel was wondering what on earth he could say to fill the silence, when Aleksander sat up and leaned closer across the table. Mikkel suddenly blanched: had the pleasantries all been an act? Was he about to whip out his gun and threaten him to leave Regina alone? Did he somehow know he’d been trying not to look at her legs earlier?

‘I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something, Michael.’ He lowered his voice to barely more than a whisper, as though Regina might be lurking behind them and listening in as opposed to being in the kitchen and washing the dishes. ‘I hope you don’t mind my saying, but I can recognise a kid who feels lost when I see one. There’s something in your eyes that reminds me of myself when I was your age. I understand that for one reason or another, we have to live a lie in order to get by, sometimes. That we have to learn to forget where we came from in order to move forward. To forget our past. And if you’ll accept it, please consider this my offering of a listening ear if you ever need to talk about anything. Anything at all. Or even some brotherly advice, if you need it. I know it’s just yourself and your mother at home. Because Regina seems very fond of you. Perhaps she sees her old friend, Mads, in you, I wouldn’t know: I never met him, but I’m told you resemble him quite a bit, in appearance and in character. And I know you’ve helped her out a few times now, when she’s been struggling to cope with everything, be it with her mother and grandfather or with those idiots up at the school. And anyone who’s a friend of Regina is a friend of mine. Anyone who can help make her days a bit brighter when I’m not around to do so, deserves my respect. I want you to know you have nothing to fear from me. And that gun is buried somewhere no one will ever find it. Myself and Regina, we’re here for you, both of us, whenever you need it. I just wanted you to know that.’

Mikkel was speechless. He was reminded irresistably of Hannah: Aleksander, too, seemed to know too much about him, without a word being said. And like Hannah, Aleksander was not particularly forthcoming with his own secrets. But then again, neither was Mikkel. But it was clear to him that Aleksander certainly had a fair share of his own.

_Everyone in Winden has their secrets._

This time, Mikkel was the one to extend his hand to Aleksander, who took it gratefully, eyes glinting not only with that enigmatic wisdom of his, but with a warmth only the beginnings of a new alliance could ignite.

*

_Autumn 1988_

September had arrived, the last feeble fragments of summer lingering beneath a weak sun and the occasional drizzle of cool rain, leaving the air crisp and earthy. Winden’s rich foliage was already beginning to fade into an autumnal collage of bronze and gold, the forest a patchwork of burnt orange and honey leaves. The scent of ginger and cinnamon clung to the air, such that Mikkel was constantly reminded of Hannah and the way her hair smelled so good whenever she’d hugged him. 

It was quickly becoming a daily struggle to push such absurd contemplations to the back of his mind.

On the day before school started up again, Max and Mikkel were riding along the forest road on their bikes, enjoying their last hours of freedom and complaining about how much they were dreading going back to school, and how they might soon stop off at Max’s for supper and a round of cartoons before his papa got home from work. 

‘Oncoming traffic,’ Max announced as a fellow rider came into view, heading towards them. Moments later, Charlotte emerged, looking rather winded and uneasy.

‘Where are you two going?’ she asked breathlessly, pausing before them.

‘Just riding around aimlessly,’ Max stated. ‘You?’

‘Well, I was just doing some drawing near the caves. But I wouldn’t head back that way if I were you. I just left because I heard a weird noise. Really loud. It sounded like it was coming from the caves. God, they’re creepy. Something’s not right about them.’ She looked behind her as though they might be right there, a crumbling stone shadow in her wake.

Max threw Mikkel a mysterious look, then turned back to Charlotte. ‘Hmm. My papa would agree with you there. Mads went missing near the caves, he’s been telling me to keep away from them ever since. People don’t go near them anymore, not that they ever really did. If you ask me, though, this all sounds like an adventure waiting to be had. What say you, Michael?’

‘You mean… explore the caves?’ Mikkel felt uncomfortably warm, and his body tensed.

‘You can’t just go exploring down there, you two,’ Charlotte interjected. ‘The caves extend for miles beneath Winden. You’d get lost. You’d need a map or something. I know they used to sell maps to the public some years ago. It only detailed a small section of the caves though: go any deeper and there was fear of getting lost in there forever. They’re not available anymore, though. They keep them under lock and key at the police station, have done ever since Mads. But there’s long been rumours of people going in there and never coming back out.’ 

‘How do you know all this?’ Mikkel asked, alarmed.

Charlotte shrugged. ‘School careers week. I spent mine at the police station. It was really interesting, actually. Your papa is scary, though, Max.’

‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ Max sighed.

‘Well, there's a type of bird, the Bassian thrush, that eats mainly worms. They’ve adapted their foraging techniques over time, and sometimes rely on generating enough gas to startle earthworms into moving, so that they can find them in order to eat them.’

Max and Mikkel shared an exasperated look, before Max turned back to Charlotte with a small grin. ‘I didn’t mean literally, Charlotte, but thanks for enlightening us. So basically, they have to fart to eat? Doesn’t sound too bad of a life, if you ask me.’ He looked at Mikkel. ‘So, anyway, Michael, what do you think? Fancy some cave exploring?’

Mikkel’s heart was beating so fast in his chest, it was a wonder the others couldn’t see it thumping away through his sweater. This was the opportunity he’d been waiting for. A potential breakthrough in a mission he’d long since pushed to the back of his mind, as though it might solve itself. But this… this could be it. This could be his ticket back to the future. 

It would mean leaving his friends behind, and Ines. Leaving behind this new life he’d created for himself. And a part of him felt some regret about that. There were some aspects of this life that weren’t all bad at all.

But it would be worth it if he could have his old life back, he was sure of it. If everything could go back to normal again.

He looked between the two of them, then said to Max, ‘Well, your papa works at the station. What are the chances you can stop by, get a hold of that key and sneak a map out of there without him suspecting anything?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations, you made it to the end!
> 
> So, we'll be moving into 1989 next chapter and Mikkel will (at least, biologically) turn fourteen, so firmly into his adolescence and all the awkwardness, tension and confusion that period brings with it. I hope we're all okay with the introduction to Max: I really felt Mikkel needed more male influences in his life, and now he has both a friend in Max and a sort of older-brother-type of relationship with Aleksander. But will Mikkel finally get his hands on the beginnings of the map? And will he ever hang out with Hannah anywhere besides the school or the lake? And will Ines have anything more to say about their growing friendship? Find out next chapter! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	13. Life is a Labyrinth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikkel ponders on the girls in his life, and when he learns of the death of another Winden resident, makes a startling revelation about yet another of his friends. Later, he and Hannah discuss the nature of their relationships with others, instead of addressing their own, and Hannah gives him three years worth of birthday gifts that could change everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter. Where to begin? 
> 
> Originally, this and chapter fourteen were one chapter. But, as per usual, the writing got too ‘meaty’ and so, I split it into two, and the next one is half written already. This one isn’t full of action per se, but it does set up a new location, and build on some relationships as well as touch on those growing, raging hormones that come along with those dang teenage years. 
> 
> With that said, I think this one will make a few of you squee with shippy happiness. Maybe. Hopefully. Let me know if it does. 
> 
> Enjoy :)

Chapter Thirteen - Life is a Labyrinth 

_September 1988_

When Mikkel returned to school the next day, it was with a strange sense of finality for two of his friends. It was as such because, for Regina and Charlotte, this would in fact be their final year of Winden High School, before departing for a life of further education or the world of work. Charlotte had already revealed she had a keen interest in exploring a career with the police department, while Regina was still unsure of who or what she wanted to become when she was no longer a school student: as smart and astute as she was, it seemed the unhappy events that had transpired this past year had put any career dreams or aspirations she might’ve had on hold. There were talks of going to study at the university in Marburg, as Winden had no college of its own, but she was hesitant to leave Aleksander behind, and likewise, he had no desire to leave his position at the plant. Neither of them wanted to uproot from Winden entirely, just in case there was a chance Regina’s mother would come home.

Mikkel knew that Regina never stopped hoping, despite what she might say otherwise, that her mother would come back for her. And Mikkel could relate to that hope more than she could ever know.

Wondered, perhaps, if it had already happened, and he didn’t even know it. Wondered where she might be now, if his mama had truly come looking for him here in the past, here in this strange new present.

Max, being closer to Mikkel’s age, had a few years left at high school, and Hannah… well, the end was looming closer for her too, he knew. She had only two years left of high school herself. And already, many of her friends had left school-life behind, including Katharina. Not that you’d know it, Mikkel privately thought: it seemed she was drawn to the school, student or not. Because without fail, there she would be at the end of the school day, waiting for her friends and, more importantly, Ulrich, who would be remaining at the school for his final year. It was with some nausea that he’d had the unpleasant realisation that this girl would one day become a teacher, and later the Head, of the very school he attended right now.

Because he’d began, at a time he couldn’t quite pinpoint, to disassociate himself from these people. His parents, his friends’ parents, his old teachers or doctors or dentists or whatever else they were meant to become… or were once meant to become, at least.

For part of him wondered if he hadn’t already changed the course of time, set the path for a very different future than the one he had left behind.

And whether, if he were successful in finding that elusive tunnel in the caves, he would return to a time and a place in which he was as much a stranger in that world as he was in this one, here in the eighties.

And if that future _was_ much bleaker from the one he’d left behind, it would likely all be his fault. It would be a result of his mere presence here, his own actions, that unknowingly changed everything.

Would that mean his parents, his family, wouldn’t recognise him at all if he returned?

It was a gravity of power he did not want, that no one person should be trusted with. And none of this bore thinking about for long: it was all much too confusing, too painful, to try to comprehend if, how, or why he might be changing the course of time. It was much easier to forget who these people were, or who they may or may not one day become. To forget he was not only a stranger, but an imposter, in this time, this world. It was much easier to go on as if each day existed as it own entity, free from any ties to future nor past. Easier, in some ways, to just live a lie, and wait for the day when the lie became the truth. Or when the truth became a lie. Or when both truth and lie became so intertwined, so interwoven, that they simply became indistinguishable from one another.

And further, there was the subject of the maps, and getting hold of the key for said maps: Max had revealed to Mikkel that he had indeed scoped his father’s office, and knew now where the key was held. But to get a hold of the key without his father noticing, he would need a distraction, a reason for his father to be out of the office, while simultaneously grabbing the key. And for that, he had said, he would simply need to be in two places at once: an impossible feat, he had lamented. But that was where Mikkel was to come in.

‘I’ll distract my papa, somehow, and get him out of the office, while you sneak in and grab the key,’ he’d told Mikkel late that September on a bike ride home from school. ‘It’s simple, really. Go in, grab it, and get out… happy days. Just give me a few more days to have a think about _how_ exactly I’m going to distract him, because that’s the hard part. But nothing’s impossible. We of all people should know that. What’s that in your ear, anyway?’

They’d paused at the crossroads, and Max had leaned over to pull something from Mikkel’s ear, holding it up to reveal a pfennig that glinted beneath the afternoon sun. ‘I keep trying to think of ways to make my tricks more… girl-friendly. Romantic, even. You know, for Sofia.’ He’d then pocketed the coin.

‘You really like her, don’t you?’ Mikkel had nudged with a faint smile. Max had never seemed to miss an opportunity to bring Sofia Vogel into a conversation. And from this, Mikkel had learned that Sofia was the girl in which Nikolas had been seen looking quite cosy with while Hannah had been alone and miserable outside. It hadn't given him the best vibes about her, but nothing could sway his friend from believing she was anything other than perfection itself.

‘I really do. Didn’t you see how she told that older kid, Nikolas, or whatever his name is, to stop trying to get in her pants? She embarrassed him, right in front of his stupid friends. It was great.’ A rather dopey smile had creeped onto his face at the mere memory, but then quickly faltered at his next words. ‘And well deserved… apparently he’s a bit of an idiot. Did you hear about how he cheated on his last girlfriend a bunch of times? That Hannah girl? Anyway, at the school dance back in December, just between you and me… she’d told me earlier that night, before you came to my table, that she’d found my tricks _very_ impressive, and that she wanted me to show her some more… in private. And I think I’m ready, now, to put on a good show for her, if you know what I mean.’ He’d finished off the sentiment with a wink. Mikkel had hoped the flash of anger he’d felt at the mention of Nikolas wasn’t written clear on his face. Max, however, seemed then to have slipped back into a dreamy sort of state again, no doubt once more with Sofia on his mind, and went on. ‘Every great magician needs an even greater assistant at his side, Michael. And Sofia’s beautiful to boot.’

Max had begun to reclaim his clutch on his bike handles, poised for take-off in the opposite direction to Mikkel. ‘What about you, anyway? Any girls been catching your eye lately?’

‘No,’ Mikkel had answered, unsure even within himself as to whether he was being honest or not. Girls were… new. And strange. And… kind of interesting. There were moments, he’d realised, that he hadn’t been able to stop his eyes from wandering, at times, during those summer afternoons beside the lake with his friends. It was as though, ever since his guilty observation of Regina’s bare legs that day in July, some part of him had been awakened of which he’d never known before. And suddenly, there were girls all over Winden, that he’d never noticed or even given a second glance until this summer. And some were… well, some of them were pretty. _Very_ pretty. And then August had arrived, and all those girls he’d never noticed before were suddenly spending endless days alongside them at the lake, jumping into and emerging from its waters in all manner of bathing suits, skin of all shades and bodies of all shapes rife and exposed under a golden sun. And it had all felt so new, so strangely alluring, he’d been unable to stop himself from stealing a glance now and then when Regina and Charlotte were engaged in conversation. Never to gawp at a girl, he knew that was wrong: but to simply observe, to wonder.

The guilt had only really set in when his female friends donned their swimsuits for a dip in the lake. Regina, especially, had a curve to her body that had Mikkel averting his eyes at every possible moment. How awful it would be, he’d thought, if either of his friends were to find out he’d begun to observe the physicality of their being in addition to everything else they had to offer in mind and spirit. The very notion of it had made him blanch beneath his tanned exterior: these were his friends, and it didn’t make him feel any differently about that, but these were observations he was quite happy to keep secret nonetheless. It was with some relief whenever Max came to join them, if only for a firm distraction above anything else, and it was with mixed emotions when either Aleksander or Peter (who Charlotte was now officially dating) very occasionally put in an appearance: he very much felt like the little kid who had no place being here at all, despite both boys being nothing but good-natured in his presence.

But he never saw Hannah wearing anything that fell above the knees. Not once, all summer, be it during their secret encounters in their little nook of the lake, or from afar, at opposite ends of the glittering expanse, when he sat with his friends, and she with hers, as though they didn’t know each other at all. And some small part of him, perhaps the guiltiest part of him of all, wondered what she might look like if she were prepared to let go of her insecurities and simply dive into those waters, too, and later emerge with her long hair dripping wet. What she might look like with those drops of crystal water clinging to every inch of her skin that was uncovered and bare beneath the baking sun.

He’d realised moments later that Max had still been waiting for further comment, but Mikkel had stayed true to his somewhat laconic nature, and merely left him with a simple departing comment before setting off back home, the wind in his hair not feeling quite so exhilarating as it had last.

‘No, there’s no girls. None at all.’

And then he was gone.

_October 3 rd 1988_

As autumn and the oncoming winter ravished the lush landscape of the small forest town, Mikkel and his friends had decided to take refuge in the library, a favourite spot of Charlotte’s, she'd revealed, when suggesting the place as a shelter from the rain.

It was late Monday afternoon: the library was relatively vacant, with a warm, yellow glow sweeping the room and illuminating walls adorned with shelf after shelf of books: from humble biographies to colossal encyclopaedias, colourful children’s books and gloomy crime thrillers. There was a cosy corner nestled beside a large window, a rich crimson curtain draped at either side, velvet tips barely grazing the creaking wooden floors. An assortment of comfortable armchairs sat invitingly inside the pool of greying light streaming in through the window, along with a low table concealed beneath a medley of comic books and magazines. There were no computers in the library, not as there had been last he’d been here, on some school trip that might have been three or four years ago, although it felt like a million years: in their place stood a few neatly arranged wooden desks topped with typewriters in the centre of the library. Mikkel knew computers existed even here in the eighties: they had a small computer room up at the school, boasting a grand total of three computers. But they were bulky, sizeable things, and though he’d never used one yet (they were available only to older students, study clubs or computer groups), he’d been told by both Regina and Charlotte that they were used mainly for writing ‘electronic mail’ or completing specific school projects. Mikkel knew now not to mention anything about the internet: though it existed here in the eighties, nobody spoke of it much. Things like ‘Google’ or ‘YouTube’ were words as completely alien as an ancient, dying language to anybody here.

‘It smells like knowledge and adventure,’ Charlotte whispered deliriously.

‘It smells like old people,’ Max added under his breath when the aged librarian hobbled passed them, shooting them a suspicious look over a drooping shoulder. They each offered her a very forced, falsely bright smile, looking a very shifty bunch indeed. Max gave her a whimsical wave, which only had the librarian scowling even more, her beady eyes threatening to pop right out of her skull. Regina shoved his hand back down and kicked him discreetly in the back of the foot.

When the old librarian had disappeared, no doubt concealed behind a book shelf and spying on them from afar to ensure they weren’t up to no good, Charlotte ran off to the front desk, muttering something about checking to see if the newest ‘Dean Koontz’ had arrived, while Mikkel, Regina and Max made their way over to the convivial little corner with its comfortable armchairs. While Regina and Max bickered under their breath about who would claim the biggest and the best chair, Mikkel perused the collection of comic books on display atop the table. Finding a copy of ‘ _Nuclear Navigators’_ he had not yet pored over, he settled into a chair and flipped it open. A few minutes later, Charlotte returned, sliding a copy of ‘ _The Alchemist_ ’ into her bag and dropping into a chair of her own. 

‘What we need,’ Regina murmured after a few tense, silent moments (and sitting, of course, in the biggest and the best chair, having won that particular argument), ‘is a place where we can build a community in Winden. Somewhere people can congregate without conversing in whispers, and without jaded old librarians breathing down their necks, listening in to their conversations.’ She surveyed the room, as though she might spot those beady eyes glaring at her from between the shelves, then continued. ‘More places and more reasons for people from other towns to visit. I mean, as dull as Winden is, the town is so picturesque, a real woodland paradise. Marburg has more to do: the galleries, the museums, the cafes and bars. But it doesn’t have Winden’s idyllic charm. I’m sure, if we had a few more cafes and pubs, we’d attract more tourists from other towns. And a hotel, where people can stay. That’s what Winden needs.’

‘Maybe someone will turn the old Doppler mansion into one?’ Charlotte supplied, pulling her new book back out of her bag and holding it close as though itching to pull back the cover and get lost in someone else’s story. ‘I mean, Bernd’s no longer around to occupy it, and Helge won’t take it on: Peter told me he just wants to mope around in his cabin, working on his little pinecone figures… I think it might have something to do with his accident a couple of years ago, you know. He’s not all there in the head. Not that he ever was, really, from what little I saw of him before that.’

‘Doppler?’ Mikkel asked with a start, suddenly looking up from his comic. Charlotte practically jumped out of her seat with surprise, but Mikkel was too busy trying to forage through the eternal dense fog in his mind, to remember how it was that he recognised that surname. ‘Bernd Doppler? What happened to him?’

‘Murdered,’ Charlotte said with a shrug when she’d recovered from her shock, then blanched slightly when she remembered Regina was sitting amongst them, and the implications of such a revelation on her.

‘It’s alright, Charlotte,’ Regina sighed, reaching up to adjust the glasses she no longer wore: even after so long without them, it seemed old habits died hard. She dropped her hands to her lap and wrung her hands, turning to Mikkel. ‘He was the old plant manager before… before my mother took over. He was killed around the same time as Jasmin, and in exactly the same way. It was in the papers, too, but I imagine you’d have been up at the cabin at the time, so you probably didn’t catch the news of either murder.’

Mikkel had begrudgingly confessed his whereabouts to his friends when they’d persisted in pestering him about it. There was no harm in telling that much, at least.

‘And again, we still don’t know who did it, or why,’ she went on. ‘All these murders, Mads' disappearance, then my mother… I guess if one thing will kill Winden’s tourism industry, that’ll do it. All we know is that it’s very odd, that two people should be killed, and two go missing, yet three of them have links to the power plant. It’s yet another reason why the place is understaffed, and why Alex is always working. He keeps telling me it must be some disgruntled employee out for revenge, and that if he finds out who, they’ll get what’s coming to them.’

Mikkel shifted in his seat. ‘Do you think that? That it’s just some disgruntled employee, I mean?’

Regina shook her head slowly. ‘I… I honestly don’t know, Michael. All I know is, it has something to do with my mother. It has to. Who knows, maybe they’ll come for me next, and then we’ll all know for sure. Well, you guys will. I’ll be dead, so I won’t know much at all.’

‘Don’t say that, Regina,’ Charlotte whispered, alarmed.

‘Yes, don’t say that,’ Max added, a sly smile tugging at his lips. ‘I mean, what would we do without you here to boss us all around and give us lectures on the selling points of Winden?’

Regina leaned over the table and grabbed a magazine, rolling it up and looking ready to hit every bit of Max she could reach. Max snorted then recoiled into his armchair as she came closer, weapon in hand, ready to take a battering so long as it kept Regina’s mind off her mother and the murders. But just as she raised the rolled magazine to strike, faintly smiling despite herself, the beady-eyed old librarian came rounding the shelves, hands on her feeble hips and practically breathing fire.

‘This is a _library_!’ she hissed, eyeing them all furiously, fingers twitching as though itching to snatch Regina’s magazine and beat them all blue with it herself. ‘Now, either you all choose a book and read in silence, or _get out!_ ’

*

When the group exited the library moments later, they were greeted with a heavy sheet of familiar, icy rain, seeping from a steel sky strewn with coiling clouds that hung like silver smoke over the bleak forest town. The girls pulled their coats and scarves closer, all of them huddled against the rain as they sped down the steps.

‘So, are you doing anything for your birthday, Michael?’ Regina asked once they’d reached the shelter and solitude of the trees fringing the forest, where Max and Mikkel had left their bikes beside a particularly large fir tree: the girls were to walk back, heading toward the forest road. But Mikkel wasn’t listening anymore: during the short race across the library grounds beneath the bitter downpour, he’d realised how it was that he’d recognised the name ‘Doppler’.

Elisabeth Doppler. Of course, little Elisabeth Doppler, quiet as a mouse but whom packed a punch. Elisabeth Doppler, who, of course, he knew was the daughter of his father’s work colleague up at the station. And her name had been...

‘Charlotte,’ he said aloud a few seconds later, when the revelation hit him harder than the rain had.

‘Yes?’ Charlotte returned, squeezing the rain from her already drenched ponytail.

Charlotte Doppler. _Charlotte Doppler._ His memory was hazy, but it could recall her well enough, with her quiet yet all too serious nature. He was almost certain he’d seen her last, perhaps, at his parents twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. The day he'd been sick with rubella. The very same day he’d been up at the Kahnwald house, the house which was now his own. Hadn’t he seen Jonas’ reclusive, odd father that day, too? And Jonas’ mother… she’d looked at him so strangely, as if she’d recognised him… what was her name again?

But Charlotte was looking at him curiously, now, too. Could this be the same Charlotte Doppler he’d once known only as the mother of Elisabeth Doppler and the colleague of his father? Of course, she wasn’t called ‘Charlotte Doppler’ here in the eighties. He’d known her only as Charlotte Tannhaus, a name he was sure he did not recognise.

‘Michael?’

Regina, tearing him out of his train of thought, from putting those pieces together that were scattered both across his mind and across Winden like some twisted treasure hunt, where the only treasure was knowledge that would lead only to confusion and misery.

‘Oh… um, sorry, what did you say?’ Mikkel said finally, voice scratchy and weak as he took in the anxious expressions of his circling friends, avoiding locking eyes with Charlotte.

‘I asked you what you were doing for your birthday…’ Regina repeated, eyeing him uneasily. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘I think.. I think I just had déjà vu, that’s all,’ he lied a beat later, blinking the colour that had momentarily faded from his vision back into existence.

‘Oh, I get that, too,’ Charlotte interjected, nodding meaningfully. ‘It’s so strange, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.. really strange,’ Mikkel agreed, still avoiding her gaze.

‘So, _are_ you doing anything for your birthday, Michael?’ Regina persisted, still appearing somewhat concerned: that was, at least, until Max began to shake his head wildly, liberating the rain that saturated his hair and spattering Regina in a shower of water droplets. ‘MAX!’ she yelled furiously, whacking him over the head in a way that pulled at fading memories in Mikkel’s mind and left a heaviness on his heart.

‘How… how did you know my birthday’s coming up?’ he asked as he picked up his bike, watching Max chortle as he slid from Regina’s reaching grip.

‘Oh, Aleksander told me,’ she explained, crossing her arms and feigning indignation at Max’s antics. ‘Apparently it was in the papers. You know, in the article about you and the escaped mental patient last summer. Alex has always got his head in the paper. It's as if he's waiting for some specific news to appear.’

‘When is it?’ Charlotte enquired curiously, still trying to get Mikkel to acknowledge her.

‘November fifth,’ he relented, focusing solely on steadying his bike and readying himself to leave.

‘November fifth… isn’t that the day you came to Winden? Or close to it?’

‘Is that your _real_ birthday?’ Max probed, eyebrows raised sceptically.

‘Yes,’ he lied again, throwing a leg over his bike and preparing to set off. ‘I left… left my old life behind on my eleventh birthday. And I don’t really celebrate it. Bad memories and all that.’

‘Well, I think it’s time we change that, don’t you? Why don’t we do something for it?’ Regina suggested brightly, the others nodding their agreement.

‘Oh… um, well…I suppose I could ask Ines… I mean, my mama… I could ask her if it’s okay, I guess.’

‘You never call Ines your mama, Michael. I’ve noticed that. Is everything okay at home?’

‘It’s fine. Honestly. It just takes time, you know. With her not being my… well, you know, she took me in, when I came here… to Winden, I mean.’

It was no secret he was adopted, after all. But it was suddenly growing very hard to forget who you were, where you were, _when_ you were, when your friends were constant reminders, not only with their persistent questions, but in their mere being, the mere fact of who they were or might one day become.

‘Well, you _can,_ at least, call us your friends,’ Regina pressed, snapping him back to reality. The rain sounded louder than ever as it beat against the cover of the trees. ‘And as your friends, we insist you do something for your birthday this year, besides feeling miserable. Ask your mama: me and Charlotte, we’ll be there. Max too, I’m sure.’ A glance at Max, who grinned and nodded. ‘Aleksander will most likely be working, though… maybe Peter will come along?’ She turned expectantly to Charlotte.

‘I’ll ask,’ she replied, cradling her arms against the cold and almost shouting against the thunder of the rain. ‘He spends a lot of time looking after his papa. Really, he looks after him, not the other way round. He doesn’t seem to mind though. Tells me he enjoys trying to figure him out. But yes… I’ll ask.’

Regina nodded and turned back to Mikkel, who now sat astride his bike, raring to go. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. ‘Look, you’re not thirteen every day. And sometimes, it’s okay, to not be sad, even though you feel like you’re supposed to be. Let’s celebrate it: your birthday, your coming to Winden. Maybe it doesn’t feel like it, but these are _good_ things. Me, Charlotte, Max, Alex… and let’s not forget Clara.’ Max rolled his eyes as Regina shot him a knowing look. ‘I think we’re all pretty happy to have you here, Michael.’

*

_October 31 st 1988 _

It had been a year since Hannah’s party: the night that seemingly changed both everything and nothing at all between them. Maybe he _had_ realised that Hannah was, as she so longed to hear, a pretty girl, who was growing prettier by the day: that fact hadn’t gone unnoticed by Mikkel, but whether Hannah knew it or not remained to be seen. And maybe he _had_ been going to tell her just how pretty she was. But then _he_ had shown up, and ruined everything. And hurt Hannah. And that still bothered him. A lot.

Max had put their venture to the police station in order to steal the key to the maps on hold for the next few weeks, citing the reason as being ‘busy with schoolwork’. Mikkel remained unconvinced, but did not object: he suspected Max might well be ‘busy’, but rather with a certain girl, as opposed to his studies, which he’d never took much of an active interest in before now.

It felt as though every one of his friends was intimately involved with someone, besides himself. Not that he cared, he reminded himself all too often. He was too young for all that, and girls were more trouble than they were worth. Definitely.

With it being the half-term holidays, school was out for the week, so it was on that Monday afternoon that Mikkel found himself riding back to the usual spot besides the lake, under the cover of a dull grey sky: thankfully, it wasn’t raining this time, although the thick iron clouds that threaded the heavens suggested he wouldn’t be thankful for long.

He was on his way to meet Hannah: another one of their now regular secret meetings at the lake, which thankfully remained secluded now the weather had cooled and his friends had taken to hiding in the library or else gathering at Regina’s house (she’d complained of being lonely when Aleksander was working such long hours). In the summer, it had been quite tiring indeed to ensure the nook remained unoccupied whenever he and Hannah planned to meet, insisting to his friends that he needed it vacant in order to think and to paint. And what with him still trying to shove his revelation about Charlotte and who she might really be to the back of his mind, along with everything else… well, he had enough to be worrying about.

It still bothered him, however: the secrecy surrounding his and Hannah’s friendship. A part of him wondered if this was not simply for the best: after all, how would Regina and Charlotte feel if they knew about him and Hannah? Max might not be too put-out, and Charlotte always tried to remain friendly with anyone, but he knew Regina would be hurt. Hannah might not have been the direct instigator of the bullying Regina had faced, but she had insulted and teased her at times (this from Regina herself), and was best friends with the girl who had made Regina’s life a misery. And had only ever stood back and let it happen whenever she’d been present.

With that said, Hannah had been making a conscious effort to resist from referring to Regina as ‘Four-Eyes Tiedemann’ recently, or insulting her, at least in Mikkel’s presence. And since Katharina no longer haunted the school classrooms and corridors, Hannah had little reason anymore to come into contact with Regina, so as far as he knew, nothing had transpired between them for some time. And the other part of Mikkel yearned to stop with the secrets, the hiding. He had enough secrets he had to live with, lies he had to tell. It would be nice to have just one less.

But he knew he couldn’t press Hannah on it again: at least, not yet. She was still recovering from her relationship and subsequent break-up with _him_ , still coming back into her own. She still flinched whenever he made a sudden movement, as though he might try to touch her, or as though the act resurfaced bad memories for her. And she seemed more insecure than ever.

When he arrived, Hannah was already there, a thick wool blanket strewn over the dying, frost-tipped grass beside the heavy brush. She was sporting the usual late-autumn attire: a warm coat, skirt, thick tights and boots. She’d taken to pulling her hair half back, securing the front and top section with a scrunchie so it no longer bothered her or whipped into a frenzy at the slightest breeze, while the rest hung down in a long, dark curtain, still trailing her lower back. Mikkel couldn’t help but appreciate the new look: there was something about those dark waves that had him wishing he could run his fingers through them. At the same time, her pretty face was no longer over-powered or obscured by those wild locks.

‘Happy birthday, Hannah,’ he said, parking his bike beside a tree. ‘No party this year, then?’ He sat down on the blanket beside her.

Hannah snorted, looking out across the frosty, glittering expanse of the lake. ‘Nope, no party,’ she said, ‘I figured, after everything that happened last year, I’d give it a miss this time.’ She turned to look at him closely. ‘I hear you’re having one though. Birthday coming up?’

Mikkel raised his eyebrows: he’d not told Hannah a thing about it. But then, it was in her character to know everything about everyone, whether they wanted her to or not.

‘I overheard Regina and Charlotte talking about it at school before we broke up for the holidays,’ she admitted with a nonchalant shrug, still eyeing him curiously.

Mikkel sighed and leaned back on his hands, stretching out his long legs across the blanket in front of him and looking out at the lake. ‘It’s not a party, Hannah. And I didn’t even want one. It was Regina’s idea.’

‘Regina,’ Hannah snorted derisively. The mood abruptly shifted: Hannah was suddenly tense and prickly. ‘Of course it was.’

It was Mikkel’s turn to fix Hannah with a curious glance. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Nothing,’ Hannah said waspishly, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs. It reminded Mikkel of the night of the dance last winter, and their less-than-pleasant exchange outside the school. ‘Nothing at all. I’m glad perfect Regina is looking out for you. Organising parties for you. She really seems to like you, doesn’t she, Michael? Perfect Regina, who’s just as messed up as the rest of us, no matter how much she tries to hide it from the world, what with her shady boyfriend and her big, fancy house.’

She was avoiding Mikkel’s eyes now, back to gazing at the crystalline lake, huddled against the sharp breeze. Mikkel felt his stomach drop: where was this going, exactly?

But Hannah persisted. ‘Perfect Regina, the biggest geek in Winden that every boy here still wants to screw, regardless of what they yell at her in the school corridors.’ Mikkel felt himself tense, too, and there was a familiar, prickling heat at the back of his neck as she went on. ‘I’m not stupid: I hear things. And if I told you the things they say about her, I doubt you’d look at her the same way again.’ She glanced at him again, then, her expression shrewd and calculating. ‘Then again, I’ll bet you’ve already started to look at her a bit differently, haven’t you, Michael? I mean, she’s so pretty these days, don’t you think?’

Mikkel sat up and crossed his legs, no longer feeling at ease in this situation. ‘I… I wouldn’t know. She’s my friend, I’ve never thought about her like that.’ He knew that was a lie, even as the words left his mouth.

‘You know, sometimes, you crop up in their conversations, too,’ Hannah continued with false indifference, disregarding his answer completely as she set her eyes back on the lake.

‘And what… what do they say?’ Mikkel pressed, feeling like his stomach might well have dropped to the centre of the earth and certain he didn’t really want to know the answer.

‘Well, sometimes they just wonder if they could use you to put a good word in for them with Regina, seeing as they know you’re friends.’ She hesitated, then said, ‘and sometimes, they wonder if you’re screwing her, too.’

Mikkel knew right then: he definitely didn’t have a stomach anymore. It felt like he didn’t have any organs or bones at all, as though he might in fact be a mass of blood and water wrapped up in skin and posing as a person. The heat at the back of his neck was now so intense he was sure that should he place a hand to it, his fingers would come away scorched and charred.

Hannah wasn’t paying him any attention, however, still focused on the lake and forest ahead of her. ‘I guess they don’t realise how young you are, or maybe they just don’t care. Mostly, it seems like they’re joking, but who knows when rumours might come back to haunt you? It only takes one person to light the match before there’s a wildfire in Winden, Michael. So I’d be careful around Regina, unless you’re okay with those rumours coming to light one day.’ She turned back to look at him then, an inscrutable glint in her eyes that Mikkel couldn’t quite read. ‘I don’t think Aleksander would be very happy with you if he found out.’

‘There’s nothing to find out!’ he yelled, anger coursing his veins despite himself. ‘Me and Regina, we’re just friends. That’s all it is, all it ever will be! And I _like_ Aleksander, he’s not what you think, and he’d never be stupid enough to believe any ridiculous rumours. Especially from the kids at school. He thinks they’re all idiots.’

‘Maybe not now,’ Hannah shrugged. ‘But maybe one day, he will. Maybe one day, he might see you as a threat rather than a friend.’

Mikkel shook his head in exasperation, torn between nausea and fury. Why was his relationship with Hannah always such a rollercoaster of emotions, of constant ups and downs? Why couldn’t it just be easy? And why was some small part of him glad that it was not? ‘This is all a bit rich, coming from you, Hannah.’

‘Excuse me?’ she shot, eyes flashing furiously.

Mikkel braced himself for the impact he knew would come at his next words, and knowing he would likely regret them in an instant. ‘How about you and Ulrich? Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you always follow him around school, Hannah. Even more so since Katharina left. Enjoying having him all to yourself these days?’

Hannah almost hissed with resentment, but didn’t take the bait. It was true, though, Mikkel realised: Hannah clung to Ulrich like a shadow, these days. He knew they were friends, and that Ulrich had eyes only for Katharina, but now, seeing the two of them together in the school corridors without Katharina as a buffer between them: it bothered him, and he had yet to figure out _why_ exactly it did so. Although he’d tried not to think about it in recent weeks and months, Ulrich was… would become, perhaps… his father. And in a way, he realised, he was competing with him for Hannah’s attention. Perhaps there was just something innately unpleasant at such a notion, but that still didn’t explain why he’d had the occasional, wild and fleeting fantasy about throwing Ulrich a spectacular punch whenever he’d seen him laughing at something Hannah had said.

‘There’s nothing going on between me and Ulrich,’ Hannah sighed when she’d composed herself moments later, face traced with a disappointment Mikkel pretended not to see. ‘Trust me.’

‘I’ll trust you when you can trust me, Hannah.’

‘You can’t fool me, Michael,’ she said quietly, looking back to the lake as a growing breeze stirred the ends of her hair. But to Mikkel’s surprise, she steered the conversation in another direction. ‘I know that November fifth can’t be your real birthday. I read the newspaper article about you last summer, you know. I didn’t press you on it because, well, it’s like we said, no personal questions, right? But you just happen to wind up in Winden on your eleventh birthday? Sure, maybe you can fool everybody else with that story. But I knew you when they didn’t. I met you in the hospital, remember, just days after you got here. And you might have Regina running around organising parties for you now, and Charlotte following you around as well. And don’t think I haven’t noticed Clara eyeing you up, laughing with her ridiculous friends every time you walk past them in a corridor. But back then, you were just a lost little kid, running from something. From what, I don’t know, and like I’ve always said, I won’t push you to tell me. I’ve got my secrets, and you’ve got yours. But I think your real birthday is one of them.’

‘If that’s what you think, Hannah, then I’m not going to try and convince you otherwise. I already know that’s an impossible task.’ He offered her a timid smile, hoping to soften the mood.

Hannah snorted despite herself, smiling slightly. ‘And, I suppose, you not inviting me to this party of yours… that’s revenge, for me not inviting you to my party last year, right?’

Of course, she _would_ play that card. ‘Hannah… firstly, how many times do I have to tell you? It’s not a _party_. It’s… I don’t know, a get-together, or something like that. And secondly, if I asked you to go… would you honestly even come?’

‘Is Clara going?’ she asked lightly, fixing him with a coy glance.

‘Not as far as I know,’ he shrugged, watching a fragment of fallen leaf weave through the wind and land in her hair. His fingers itched to remove it, to use it as an opportunity to shift closer to the unfathomable yet endlessly fascinating girl beside him. 

Hannah hugged her knees closer, still observing him with a blend of coyness and bemusement. ‘Anyone would think you were trying to make me jealous, what with all these girls you have following you around every day.’

‘Would… would they?’ Mikkel stammered, hardly daring to believe what he was hearing.

‘Do you think it’s working?’ Hannah said quietly, barely audible across the swelling winds. A deep roll of thunder resonated from up above at that moment. It rippled across the lake, reverberating the remaining leaves on the trees and rumbling through the very ground they sat on.

‘Do I think what’s working?’ Mikkel asked, feigning idiocy in case he’d misunderstood.

Hannah rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t play dense with me, Michael. Do you think you’re doing a good job at making me jealous?’

Mikkel was confused. Not an unusual feeling, these days, by any means. But this was confusion of a different sort. ‘I… well, are you? Jealous, I mean?’

‘That’s for me to know, and for you to figure out,’ Hannah muttered, just as a second roar of thunder shook the world around them. A heavy downpour was imminent: they should leave soon, he knew. But Hannah was still talking, and he found himself in no hurry to leave, despite the tension and intense nature of their earlier discussion. ‘And I’m sorry for giving you a hard time about Regina. I keep trying to do better, when it comes to her. You know, with the name-calling and everything. But it's hard, with you two being so close… and I only said it because I care about you. I know how quickly rumours can spread around here.’ Hannah cast him a sidelong glance, shaking her head with bemusement as an easy grin tugged at her lips. ‘Jesus, I wish I didn’t have to keep apologising around you. I think I’ve said “sorry” more often in the time I’ve known you than I have in my entire my life before then.’

Something in her words stirred at a memory. Mikkel leaned forward, gently removing that stubborn piece of leaf from her hair, not far from her ear. Hannah watched him intently as he did so. He wondered if she’d noticed how his hand had lingered longer that he’d needed it to. He wanted to tuck that stray lock of hair behind her ear, and the realisation of such a desire was almost overwhelming. ‘How many times have you meant it?’ he asked carefully, pulling back his hand but still leaning towards her, watching her closely and thinking of the letter she’d left him that day in March. Unbeknownst to her, that day had, in fact, been his ‘real’ birthday.

‘It scares me to admit it, but I think I’ve meant it every time. With you, anyway.’ She looked as though she'd surprised even herself with such a revelation.

‘I’ve been meaning to ask you something, Hannah,’ he said quietly.

‘Oh?’ Hannah probed, a little breathlessly. It seemed to Mikkel that she was edging closer, just slightly, as though in anticipation of something. 

‘The letter you gave me… how did you slip it in my locker if you weren’t at school that week? Was it even you who put it there?’

‘Oh, that,’ Hannah sighed, looking disappointed, but she didn’t move away. ‘Yes, it was me. I had my papa drop me off early, on his way to work, before everyone else got there. Then I came here, just to think for a while. I'd planned to head home and come back, but minutes turned into hours, and before I knew it, you were here. But after I left you the letter, this is where I was, the whole time. When my papa got the message from school that I’d not been there that day, I just told him I’d felt ill again before classes started, and was too nauseous to walk the whole way back home, so just spent the day beside the lake instead. And, honestly, that wasn’t even really a lie. I needed some air, to clear my head. And papa… he was worried about me. You made me realise that, that day, when I told you… well, anyway, he gave me the biggest hug when I got home.’ A rare, genuine smile lit her features.

Something stirred low in Mikkel’s stomach: those elusive, sincere smiles seemed to have an unparalleled effect on his insides. ‘Why don’t you just come to the party-… I mean, the get-together, at my place, Hannah? You know I’d like you to be there, even if not everyone else feels the same. I honestly don’t care what anyone else thinks. You know I’d defend you, if I had to.’

Hannah looked genuinely remorseful at her next words, glancing down at Mikkel’s hand that rested between them, which he’d used to prop himself up when he’d shifted closer to pull the leaf from her hair. She finally unravelled her arms from around her legs, adjusting herself so that she was sat cross-legged and directly facing him. She put a hand on his own, irresistibly warm despite the bitter chill that had fostered itself around them. Somewhere beneath the thick layers of his coat and sweater, the hairs on his arms were raised, and he wasn’t wholly convinced it had anything to do with the stormy weather. She met his eyes, then, looking rueful as she said, ‘I can’t come to your party, Michael. But I wish I could. Really, I do. But… there would be rumours. And, well, you know what I said about those. And I can’t speak for Max and Charlotte, but Regina… I think I might end up ruining your day. But maybe we’ll hang out at yours soon?’ she added, smiling weakly. ‘I’ll figure something out.’

‘You will?’ Mikkel asked, chest tight as he chanced another glance at her hand on his.

‘Where there’s a will, there’s a way, Michael. Remember that.’ She raised her head, taking in the darkening sky above, before their eyes locked once more. The air around them was pierced with a tension far more intangible than the rising storm that whipped at their hair and stirred the stubborn autumn leaves that still clung to the branches. ‘I have to go.’

A veil of disappointment threatened to smother him for just a moment, before Hannah inched just a little bit closer. 

‘But first,’ she muttered quietly, leaning closer still, ‘this is my gift to you for your eleventh birthday.’

Mikkel watched, paralysed with disbelief and burning wonder, as she shifted the hand that wasn’t covering his and gently gripped his chin with her fingers, tugging his face closer to her own. Then she leaned forward to press a light kiss on his cheek. It was over before he’d even registered what had happened. She leaned back, meeting his eyes once more and saying, ‘and this is for the twelfth.’ She placed yet another light kiss on the other cheek. ‘And _this_ ,’ she said a little breathlessly as she shifted back once more, her eyes locked on his, ‘is for your thirteenth, whenever that really was.’

She leant forward for a final time: Mikkel only had time to register the smattering of freckles that skimmed her pale cheekbones and the sweep of her lashes as her lids fluttered and lowered, drawing closer than she ever had before, before he instinctively felt his own eyes close when the familiar scent of cinnamon consumed him. She pressed her lips to his as a third roar of thunder devoured the infinite sky above them, as quiet and irrelevant as time itself as Mikkel marvelled at the feel of her lips on his, softly lingering for just a second or two, as light and teasing as a brush of silk on bare skin, innocent in all of its brevity.

When she pulled away and shifted back to look at him, those freckled cheekbones were tinged with the faintest blush, and the sight of it had him itching for his paintbrushes in order to capture the moment as best he could. There was an unreadable glint in her eyes, as indecipherable as the mystifying girl before him. 

‘Something to remember me by, the next time you’ve got Clara drooling at your feet,’ she said quietly, the first drop of rain landing lightly on her cheek and intermingling with the rising blush that stained them. ‘But if I find out that you've told anyone about this, you’ll be wishing the rumours about you screwing Regina were the only ones following you around.’ She was back to her usual self now, that brief moment of tenderness and intimacy now replaced with a creeping smirk as she stood. ‘You can keep the blanket, by the way. Enjoy your party, Michael.’

And then she was off, already sliding on to her bike and disappearing into the fringing edges of the forest. The rain and thunder now surged and fell heavy all around them. Mikkel still felt paralysed, still trying and failing to comprehend what had happened between them. Without really knowing what to say, and with only mere seconds left before she fell out of earshot, he yelled at her retreating back, ‘it’s not a _party_ , Hannah!’

Hannah sent him a dismissive wave as she rode away, leaving Mikkel to wonder whether she had really heard what he’d said at all. He flopped back down on the now sodden blanket, blissfully unaware of anything but the ghost of Hannah’s fleeting kiss. He traced a finger on his lips as though he might feel it there. 

It was on this day last year that she had left him here, in this very spot, with the unnerving realisation that she’d wanted him to tell her that he thought she was pretty, and the even more unnerving realisation that if he had done so, it wouldn’t have been a lie.

And now here he was, a year later, still trapped in time and consumed by yet another revelation.

It was almost as if Hannah had the uncanny ability to mess with his mind as effectively as traveling back in time had, except with her, the uncertainty and confusion was a welcome distraction that stirred something deep down inside him, begging for his attention. And he could no longer deny what his body had long since been trying to tell him, and which his mind had resolved to ignore.

Because there was something about Hannah that had him yearning to know what it would be like to kiss her again. To know what it might be like to have her lips move against his own, perhaps in a far more exploratory fashion than in the moment they’d just shared.

And as he sat there, soaking and sodden beneath the heavy downpour, his mind wandered to thoughts of the caves, somewhere deep in the forest he’d watched Hannah slip into only minutes ago. Jonas had, whether knowingly or not, lead him through a stony labyrinth inside those caves that had brought him thirty-three years into the past, a past he would soon be trying to escape, when he finally got his hands on a map.

But he didn’t know what scared him more: the dark and winding labyrinth that awaited him inside those caves, or the twisting, disorienting labyrinth of confounding feelings and emotions that could surely be the only consequence of falling for a girl like Hannah Krüger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... it kinda happened. It was brief, it was innocent, but that’s first kisses for you, I suppose. But how, if at all, will their relationship change going forward? Will unresolved sexual tension become the new elephant in the room? Will Ines find out? What about Mikkel’s birthday? And this dang map?! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always greatly appreciated. And as usual, thanks for reading! :)


	14. There's Nothing but Chaos Out There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikkel’s thirteenth birthday doesn’t go quite as planned, and tensions rise when his relationship with Hannah is outed in front of his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. First off, I know: it’s been a while. I’m not going to bore everyone with my life story, but sometimes things happen you can’t anticipate, and it’s been a hectic couple of weeks for me. Rest assured, this fic has been in the back of my mind the whole time, and I’ve been so desperate to get it out there, but honestly, I just haven’t had the time.
> 
> I’m really sorry about the break, and I will do my best to ensure it doesn’t happen again (or will let you know ahead of time if I think it might): with that said, I’m thinking I might have to change my publish day for upcoming chapters to Wednesday, going forward, at least for the next few weeks. I’ll be away from home every weekend which is usually when I spend the most time writing, so I need to rearrange my schedule a bit. So the next chapter will be up next Wednesday!
> 
> On a more positive note: this chapter is my longest one yet (is this positive? I don’t know! Lol). I’m still dedicated to telling Mikkel’s story, I can only hope the break hasn’t lost too much interest in it.
> 
> Thank you to everyone for commenting on the last chapter (I’ll be replying shortly!), new and old commenters alike!
> 
> Now that’s all said and done…
> 
> Enjoy! :D

Chapter Fourteen - There's Nothing but Chaos Out There

_November 4th 1988_

It was the day before Mikkel’s thirteenth ‘birthday’, though he wasn’t really thinking about that anymore.

Rather than counting down the days to his birthday, he’d instead been counting the days since his first kiss. With Hannah. _Hannah_.

It had been four days.

So why couldn’t he stop thinking about it?

And why was he falling asleep at night, replaying the moment in his mind before sleep took him, instead of being afflicted by fleeting thoughts of endless, twisting caves, a seemingly infinite tunnel and the ghosts of his parents’ faces that grew more unfocused and indistinct with each passing day, as he so often did before that Halloween day?

It was as disturbing as anything else Mikkel had encountered or surmised since he’d stumbled out of those caves and walked thirty-three years into the past. And no matter how valiantly he’d attempted to distract himself, his mind would always wander back to the memories of Hannah’s mouth on his. Only yesterday, he’d been painting one of the pictures from the book Ines had given him that day in eighty-six, the one he’d unwrapped the very day Hannah had sat beside him on the bench outside the hospital and asked him if he’d thought she was pretty. He’d been meticulously replicating the image of those vast, snow-capped mountains, ensconced in porcelain beneath the stars. Except, he’d found himself adding details that were not evident in the original: a delicate, subtle pink glow that bordered the edges of ivory, the way the light might reflect and refract against glittering frost during a particularly vivid and blushing sunrise. Certainly, not an illusion you would likely find under a midnight sky. He couldn’t help but wonder, with some consternation, if those imprinted memories of Hannah’s pale, freckled cheeks tinged with the faintest rose had begun to pervade even his painting projects.

With a yawn, he crawled out of bed and opened his desk drawer. A regular habit, now.

The portrait of Hannah was still there. Along with her letter, both rolled up and hidden at the very back, concealed beneath sheets of homework and an assortment of stationery.

With a sigh of relief, he carefully slid the drawer shut once more and forced himself to get ready for the day, blaming an acute sense of morning drowsiness as the reason for his spending several minutes attempting to put his shoe on the wrong foot.

*

At dinner that evening, Ines quizzed Mikkel on who would be coming to the ‘party’ tomorrow.

‘Just a few friends, ‘ Mikkel muttered, chasing a stray pea across his plate. ‘Max, Regina, Charlotte...’

‘Charlotte? That wouldn’t be Tannhaus’ granddaughter, would it?’

Mikkel almost dropped his fork. ‘Erm… I think so,’ he said quietly when he’d recovered. ‘Why?’

‘No special reason. It’s just, when I was a girl, I used to visit his little clock shop here in Winden. He was always very kind to us girls, even though we’d bother him something silly at times, recounting childish gossip or pestering him to show us how he would break apart and repair one of his timepieces. Or how he might assemble all the parts in order to construct a functioning clock. It was usually me and Jana, Ulrich Nielsen’s mother, perhaps you know him from school? Of course, she’s also Mads’ mother, and she doesn’t get out much since he disappeared…. and sometimes, Claudia would come along, too, before she became obsessed with… well, anyway, Claudia… I’m sure Regina’s told you about her. She was her mother, after all. It’s awful to imagine about what might have become of her. But then, it’s so lovely to think you’re good friends with the daughter of one of my best friends when I was your age. It’s a small world. And I guess Winden is smaller than most.’

*

_November 5th 1988_

Mikkel woke that Saturday plagued with nausea. Not only because he had deep regrets about this little birthday ‘celebration’ tonight, but because today was Saturday. On Monday, he’d be back at school. And there, he’d have to see Hannah again.

What would he say? What was the right thing to say or do in this situation?

What did he _want_ to say?

When he arrived downstairs for breakfast, still clad in his pyjamas and wanting nothing more than to spend the entire day in bed, hidden from the world, he found the living room had been decorated for occasion: balloons floated, banners clung and streamers hung from the walls. Confetti littered the breakfast table. A collection of party blowers sat on the kitchen side. ‘Happy 13th Birthday’ was scrawled in playful lettering across the largest banner, a colourful reminder of why today was special. And it was true, of course: today was special: but not for the reasons everyone else believed. Not because today was his birthday.

Ines was pottering around the kitchen, preparing breakfast and singing along to the radio. Their contrasting moods couldn’t have been more obvious. 

‘Happy birthday, Michael!’ Ines declared enthusiastically when she caught sight of him, beaming as he approached the table. ‘How does it feel to be a teenager at last?’

Mikkel still felt sick, and in addition he now felt overwhelmingly stunned and grateful for the efforts Ines had gone to in order to make the day special for him. Both feelings rendered him in an all-too familiar state of speechlessness.

‘Oh, cheer up, Michael,’ she urged in response to his silence, turning back to the counter to butter some toast and shaking her head. ‘I’ve never known a boy your age not be excited about his birthday.’

‘I don’t feel well,’ he groaned, confident in the fact that this wasn’t in fact a lie. ‘Can we call everyone and let them know it’s cancelled?’

Ines carefully put down the knife and turned around to face him once more, before walking over to take him gently by the shoulders. She bent forward to better meet his eyes, just slightly: gone were the days when she’d needed to crouch down to get on his level. 

‘Michael,’ she said softly. ‘What is it? You can tell me. Have you… have you never had a birthday party before? Is that it?’

Mikkel felt himself blanch: of course, she might presume such a thing. Mikkel suspected Ines had the idea that he’d ran away from a bad home life the day she’d found him. Neglected, possibly abused. Why else would a kid wind up in a police station, battered and bruised and totally silent? It was natural, he supposed, for her to question whether he’d ever had the opportunity to celebrate a birthday before.

But the truth was, he had. And he’d always very much enjoyed the attention he’d received during such an event. But that was before. He didn’t feel much like celebrating anymore. Especially when it wasn’t even his actual birthday, but rather the day his life had changed irrevocably, whether he made it back to the future or not. It didn’t feel like he was celebrating his birthday, but rather the day he was dragged across time and space away from his family. And that wasn’t reason to celebrate at all.

Ines sighed, likely perceiving his silence as confirmation that a birthday party was indeed a very new concept to him.

‘Michael. I’ll be here the whole time. If there’s any problems, anything at all, I’ll be right here. And it’s just three hours, right? Remember how you felt about the school dance? And that didn’t end up being so bad, did it? And this time, it’ll only be a few friends, and you’re safe and sound at home. How bad could it be, really?’

*

When five o’clock rolled around, Mikkel was starting to get nervous.

No one had arrived yet. Maybe they’d all forgotten?

Which would be more than fine, Mikkel reminded himself. He didn’t want this stupid party anyway.

But if his friends really had forgotten his birthday…

Thirty minutes later, Mikkel was just about to inform Ines that he was going to his room for a nap, that definitely no one was coming, when a knock sounded at the door. A chorus of familiar, bickering voices could be heard on the doorstep through the door. Ines beamed as Mikkel went to open the door. Not three, but four faces greeted him, rosy-cheeked from the bitter cold outside.

‘Sorry we’re all so late,’ Regina said quickly, adjusting her scarf and looking a little winded. ‘We’ve had a bit of a nightmare getting here, you see. Charlotte stayed with Alex and I last night, so she came with us today. But when we set off, we had to go back, because she forgot your gift.’ A guilty grin from Charlotte. ‘And then, Alex couldn’t find the house. And _then_ , who would we see walking by but Max and…’

Everyone turned to look at the unexpected guest beside Max, who blushed as Max said ruefully, ‘sorry, Michael: I accidentally let it slip that it’s your birthday at breakfast. So Clara decided to invite herself along, even though I told her she wasn’t wanted.’ He crossed his arms and shook his head exasperatedly at his sister.

‘Shut up, Max,’ Clara hissed, casting Mikkel a shy glance. ‘Michael wants me here, don’t you, Michael?’

‘Erm… I don’t really mind either way.’ Clara gave Max a smug grin and mirrored his crossed arms by haughtily folding her own. Max rolled his eyes and seemingly held back a look of betrayal that would have been sent in Mikkel’s direction, if only for the fact that it was his birthday.

‘Anyway,’ ‘Regina interrupted a few seconds later, ‘Max and Clara hopped in the car with us, and we were just about to look for a pay phone to call you when we found the place. It least it stands out, like you said.’ She nodded in the direction of the house with its lush crimson exterior. ‘You’ve got a lovely home, Michael.’

There was movement behind them, and Aleksander exited the car, still idling on the street next to the house. He swiftly joined the group hovering at the doorstep, extending a hand to Mikkel, which Mikkel shook politely.

‘Good to see you again, Michael,’ Aleksander said smartly, ‘and a happy birthday to you. Thirteen, right? I wish I had had people willing to celebrate my thirteenth, like you have here.’ It was obvious to Mikkel that Aleksander was trying to keep up his usual cool and unruffled composure, but there was a glint in his eye that revealed a hint of sorrow nonetheless as he cast a look at the group huddled beside him. ‘Unfortunately,’ he continued evenly, ‘I’m just the chauffeur today: urgent business up at the plant, they need me back up there for overtime tonight.’ He turned to Regina and kissed her swiftly on the cheek. Clara cast Mikkel a sly glance at that. ‘I’ll be back at eight to pick you up, sweetheart: Charlotte, Clara, Max: I’ll drop you off home as well.’

There was the sound of light footsteps behind Mikkel, and Ines peered over his shoulder at his friends, still loitering on the doorstep.

‘Michael, why are your friends still stood out in the cold? Why don’t you invite everyone inside?’

*

The first hour passed pleasantly enough.

Aleksander had introduced himself briefly to Ines before departing as the others stepped inside, where they were each smothered in a warm hug from Ines and her requests to take off their coats and shoes and get comfortable. They did so, then settled on the sofa, with Max sitting cross-legged beside them on the floor. After some succinct chatter wherein his friends politely complimented the home and Ines’ apt decorations for the event, Mikkel found himself feeling rather overwhelmed once again when his friends brought out their gifts for him.

‘It’s a watch, from my grandfather’s workshop,’ Charlotte said when Mikkel had unwrapped his first present with shaking hands. ‘It’s one of a kind and would’ve sold for enough Marks to make your eyes water, apparently, but my grandfather said that good friends are more priceless than gold, and that I should give it to you. I hope you like it.’

Mikkel held the piece in his hands: it felt solid. How strange it was, to hold time in your hands, as if any one person had the power to do such a thing. After a few silent seconds in which he fought back any tears that might expose his gratitude, he slipped it on his wrist and marvelled at the feeling of the coolness against his skin and the way the small hand moved so imperceptibly in contrast to the bigger of the two, once he’d set the watch in motion. They were both so out of sync with each other and yet both so in harmony, too: after all, if they were to move at the same speed along with one another, then time would stop making sense. And he knew too well just how much that could establish chaos and disorder in every facet of life.

Mikkel thanked Charlotte earnestly and turned to Regina as she pulled a hefty, smartly-wrapped gift from her bag which turned out to be a new, very expensive paint set, complete with canvas paper and brushes of variable textures and thickness. In addition to all this was a small diary: a simple, black leather journal with the year ‘1989’ printed in the top-right corner in neat, gold lettering. The pages were solid and its cover sturdy, and Mikkel suspected that despite its simplicity, it, too, might have been on the pricier side.

‘I thought you might want to keep track of your thoughts in the new year. It’s not much, but I thought you might like it.’

Mikkel nodded wordlessly, still utterly stunned by the care and thought his friends had put into his birthday gifts. His fingers lightly traced the canvas paper as he admired the vivid assortment of fresh paint colours he was already far too eager to mix and blend into colours that existed only in his imagination until he brought brush to paper.

‘Oh, here’s something from Aleksander, too,’ Regina said when he’d thanked her, pulling another neatly-wrapped gift from her bag. He pulled off the paper to reveal a book: _The Outsider_ by Richard Wright.

‘It’s one of Aleksander’s favourites. It’s about a man who is mistakenly reported deceased, so he’s forced to build a new identity,’ Regina clarified at the sight of Mikkel’s curious expression. ‘Although the convention of morality is put to question, there’s a part of me that thinks… if you used the opportunity for good, of course… that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad: to die and yet live again as someone else. Like reincarnation, I suppose, except not really. But to become whoever you wanted, and leave your past behind. Of course, that’s impossible, obviously,’ she added with a shrug at the uneasy looks the others gave her. ‘In the literal sense, at least.’

And then there was Max’s offering: a large box branded _The Great Houdini Magic Show_ complete with ‘75 astounding acts of illusion.’ Mikkel looked up and grinned at Max, who waved a hand dismissively and told Mikkel not to thank him. Mikkel thanked him anyway.

Finally, and much to Mikkel’s surprise, Clara presented Mikkel with a gift of her own that had the all-too familiar heat at the back of his neck rising once more. There had been no need to wrap the article (although she’d tried), because the distinctive shape gave it away: it was a fluffy and tan teddy-bear, sickly saccharine with a stuffed love heart knitted between its paws. The heart was deep crimson and embroidered with thick black lettering. The first word read ‘ _happy’_ , yet the word beneath it appeared to have been stitched over with thick red thread which concealed the original phrase. The word ‘ _birth’_ completed this alteration, written over the thread with black marker in handwriting that was clearly inconsistent with the style of the other two words. The word ‘ _day’_ sat just beneath it in the original lettering. Mikkel didn’t want to suspect that this soppy teddy-bear might have been a rescinded Valentine’s Day gift of Clara’s, whom might’ve (thankfully) bottled on presenting it to him last-minute. But suspect he did, nonetheless.

Mikkel wondered if his cheeks were as scarlet as that overtly-altered heart as he stammered a ‘thank you’ through his discomfort in Clara’s direction. Everyone tried to hide smirks of mirth and snorts of laughter as he did so, except for Clara herself, who was now positively beaming with joy, if not a little rosy-cheeked herself.

‘Sorry it’s a little bit… well, you see, I had to make some last-minute alterations.’

Mikkel nodded politely, hiding the bear under the mass of his other presents when Clara wasn’t looking, in the hopes that Ines wouldn’t catch sight of it and start asking any awkward questions.

At six o’clock, when the gift-giving was over and done with and everyone was feeling much more relaxed, Ines invited everyone to take a seat at the table, which was quite a squeeze with the six of them (Ines had volunteered to give them some space, and went to smoke a cigarette or two outside): two extra chairs had been procured, one from Mikkel’s desk and one from Ines’ room. The table was laden with all manner of party nibbles spread out across a medley of colourful paper plates. It was only when Ines came back inside brandishing a large birthday cake, homemade and chocolate and topped with thirteen candles, did Mikkel remember why he had been dreading this occasion and realise just how little he enjoyed the attention now, so unlike his birthdays past, before everything had changed forever.

Mikkel chose to mentally recite the twelve-times table three times over while Ines had everyone singing _Zum Geburtstag viel Glück_ over the table, and only stopped when the final note no longer hung in the air and everyone moved to puff into their party-blowers so that the room buzzed and rumbled vociferously. 

‘Make a wish, then, Michael!’ Ines encouraged warmly over his shoulder.

He slowly scanned the group of exuberant, smiling faces that watched him expectantly across the table, and with a surge of guilt too strong to ignore, he blew out the candles and thought only of crawling out of those caves and straight into the welcoming arms of his mother, right as Ines enveloped him in a hug and everyone broke into booming cheers.

*

After everyone had tucked into an indulgent slice of cake, Ines answered the phone and called Mikkel quietly to her side.

‘It’s work,’ she said in a low voice over the sound of the music that now filled the room. ‘They need me to cover a nightshift tonight. I’d need to leave in thirty minutes. I can refuse, if you’d like: I’m not obligated to accept, and this is your day, after all. It’s up to you.’ Her hand covered the receiver so as to muffle her words. 

‘You should go,’ Mikkel advised with a shallow nod. ‘Then I can feel less guilty about how much money this all cost.’ He gestured across the room at the array of decorations festooning every wall.

‘It’s just a few party decorations and a homemade cake, Michael. Are you sure?’

‘Definitely,’ Mikkel confirmed, who felt relaxed once again now the birthday theatrics were over and everyone was comfortably absorbed in conversation (excluding Clara, who was dancing to her own beat in the middle of the room). There was barely more than an hour to go before Aleksander would be here to escort everyone home, and then… well, he’d be alone. He could stop putting on an over-enthusiastic show for Ines, and instead spend a few hours savouring his new presents: he could paint with his new paint set, practice his tricks with his new magic kit, even make a start on Aleksander’s book. This would be after he had hidden away that horrendously humiliating teddy-bear in the darkest corner of his room, of course.

So thirty minutes later, Ines was sporting her hospital uniform and readying herself to leave for the night. She thanked everyone for coming and bid each of them goodbye before hovering beside the door, where Mikkel joined her to see her off.

‘You said Aleksander is picking everyone up at eight?’ she asked as she pulled on her coat.

‘He is,’ Mikkel answered with a nod as Ines paused before him.

‘I’m really proud of you, Michael. Not just because of today: I know you didn’t really want all this, but you did it anyway, for me. You’re a good kid. Although, you’re growing up so fast, I won’t be able to call you that soon. I can’t believe I’m the mother of a teenager! I would’ve never imagined, after… anyway, I know I tell you too often, but I’m so glad it was me who came to you that day. You gave me a purpose, and I’m just so proud of the man you’re becoming. And you’re friends seem lovely too.’

Mikkel peered at her curiously: he could see the welling of tears and the love in her eyes. He wondered if his mother would have told him she was proud of him back in March, if he’d turned thirteen in 2021 instead of 1988.

‘Call me if there’s any problems,’ she went on, straightening up and opening the front door. ‘You know the number.’ She paused at the doorstep, hand wrapped around the handle and poised to leave. ‘I love you, Michael.’

Mikkel could feel the tears forming in his own eyes, although he wasn’t sure if it was in response to her motherly affection or at the memory of his real mother. And he knew, then: knew that she so desperately wanted to hear those three words back, a confirmation of their bond and also perhaps that Mikkel had truly begun to leave his past behind him once and for all. It reminded Mikkel irresistibly of Hannah, so eager to hear from Mikkel that he found her to be pretty. But he’d not been able to say those words to Hannah, then, and he couldn’t say the words Ines wanted to hear, now: it wouldn’t be fair, not if he might be leaving her behind when he got his hands on a map of the caves.

‘Thank you for today,’ he said quietly, fixing his face into a smile he hoped appeared natural and easy. ‘And… and for everything else.’

Ines’ smile dropped so momentarily that if he’d have blinked, he might well have missed it. A small grin that didn’t smother the disappointment in her eyes tugged at her lips, and then she pulled the door shut behind her, leaving Mikkel alone on the other side.

*

When Mikkel returned to the main room, it seemed as though the music now sounded instead from deep beneath the ocean, muted and muffled as it was. But Clara continued to twirl manically on the spot, and Regina and Charlotte conversed animatedly in a corner, so he knew he was alone in hearing the distortion. He felt a little dizzy, so he flopped onto the couch, where he was quickly joined by Max. With Mikkel’s permission, he’d already unboxed the magic kit and had begun playing around with all the bits and pieces on the floor.

‘I’m really sorry about Clara,’ Max said quietly after a few moments, watching his sister prance about the room and shaking his head with incredulity. ‘She has no sense of social etiquette, you know.’ He glanced at Mikkel from the corner of his eye. ‘And I know she likes you. She always finds a way to slip you into the conversation at dinner every night. I’m just glad you don’t feel the same as she does, do you, Michael?’

Still lost in his own thoughts, still feeling as though he sat at the bottom of the ocean, Mikkel simply nodded absently in response, not even flinching when Clara whirled right into the landline: the phone dropped from the wall and dangled by its coiling cord, swinging from side to side like a pendulum. Max barked a warning at Clara, who stuck out her tongue and pirouetted out of time with the music once more. When he turned back to Mikkel, he whispered, ‘you don’t like my sister, do you, Michael? Please, tell me you don’t. And if you do, explain to me _why_ , exactly, because she’s absolutely mental.’

When Clara crashed into the other two girls, who laughed and allowed her to steer them into the middle of the room for a dance, Mikkel snapped back to reality and turned to Max. ‘I’m sorry. What did you say?’

‘ _Clara_ ,’ he hissed under his breath, ‘do you _like_ her?’

‘What? Of course not! I mean… she’s… _interesting_ ,’ he added, glancing over to where she danced wildly, Charlotte and Regina twirling half-heartedly and looking bemused beside her, ‘but I don’t like her like _that_.’

Max sighed with relief. ‘Well, then maybe there is a God, after all. I really didn’t want to have to stop being your friend and become the overprotective big brother instead. Because she might be annoying, but I’ll never let anyone hurt her.’

A few minutes later, Regina and Charlotte joined them on the couch. Regina asked Max to scoot over so she could sit down, which provoked another quarrelling match between the two as Regina attempted to push him to the side and Max turned into dead weight, grinning from ear to ear as she tried and failed to shove him further across the couch.

‘I guess you’ll just have to sit on my knee, Regina,’ he said with a sly grin, holding back a snort. ‘Unless you want to sit on the floor instead?’

Regina appeared incensed, but a reciprocal grin tugging at her lips betrayed her mild amusement. ‘Very funny. I’ll bet Aleksander would think so too. _Or not_.’

Max rolled his eyes and sighed. ‘I just like winding you up. Here,’ he said, rising from the couch and offering Regina the space with a flourish. ‘I’ll take the floor again, ever the gentleman that I am.’

While the pair continued to bicker between themselves, Mikkel turned to Charlotte. ‘What happened with Peter? He couldn’t make it?’

‘No, I’m sorry,’ she said earnestly, watching Max and Regina squabble beside Mikkel. ‘He has a lot on his plate, with his papa and everything. It’s not often he leaves him on his own, you know. He worries that he might do something stupid or… well, his father isn’t well, anyway. _Mentally_ well, at least. And now Peter’s finished with school, he spends most of his time with him. Looking after him, you know. Cooking, cleaning and the like. It must be frustrating, because I know he wants to go to college, but persuading him to leave Helge… I’m not sure it’ll ever happen. But he _did_ tell me to tell you he’s sorry, and to wish you a happy birthday.’

The four of them sat idly on the couch for another thirty minutes, just talking and watching Clara twirl around the room, no sign of losing energy any time soon. Mikkel was so utterly content and relaxed that he almost jumped out of his skin when a rosy-cheeked face was suddenly inches from his own.

‘Michael, dance with me!’

There was Clara, who’d stopped her chaotic routine just long enough to pause in front of Mikkel, hovering much too close. She shifted back, hand extended and sandy-hair wild as she waited for him to accept, eyes bright and hopeful. Max and Regina halted their squabbling to watch the exchange with interest. 

‘Oh, um, sorry Clara,’ I need to use the bathroom.’

He rose from the couch and left a disappointed Clara behind as he slipped into the bathroom and stood over the sink, hand gripping the cool metal as he took in his reflection in the mirror that hung on the wall before him. His cheeks were glowing pink, and he looked… older. It was difficult, sometimes, to notice those subtle changes in your appearance when you saw your own reflection every day. They were so imperceptible in their graduality, if it weren’t for pictures you might believe you’d never changed at all. And he’d always been so focused on his height, he’d never paused to linger too long on his face. But he saw it, now: he was still a boy, by no means a man, not yet. But what Ines had said was right. He didn’t look like the little kid anymore, even if he often felt as such around his older friends. It was impossible to define why he looked more mature, but there was something… something in the planes of his face, perhaps in his eyes, that said he knew too much and yet not enough. And-

He paused.

Something was outside.

Something, or perhaps more accurately, someone. He was sure of it. He could hear light footsteps skulking around the front door.

He slid from the bathroom and crept towards the door, heart beating frantically, unsure who or what he might find on the other side of the door. None of the others had appeared to notice anything unusual above the swell of the music in the main room.

He gripped the handle. Turned it with slippery fingers. Threw open the door.

And came face-to-face with the last person he’d ever expected to find at his doorstep.

‘Hannah?’

She looked torn between seething fury and absolute relief at the sight of him.

‘Michael!’ she hissed, peering across his shoulder to ensure they were alone. ‘Thank _God_ it’s you. I’ve been trying to call you for the past half an hour! Why haven’t you been answering the phone?’

Mikkel disregarded her question completely. He’d been ruminating endlessly about what it would be like to see Hannah again after… after what happened between them. If she’d even acknowledge it, or whether _he_ should if _she_ didn’t. But he hadn’t been prepared for his: it was too sudden, it was too unexpected. And it was all he could do to not replay that kiss in his mind at this very moment, the feel of her lips on his. The heat at the back of his neck prickled once more, and he realised with more than mild horror that he’d been looking at her lips for several moments, as though the sight of them might confirm it hadn’t all been some strange and compelling dream.

He snapped his eyes back up to meet hers, but he knew it was too late: there was no way she hadn’t noticed, and he wondered if she had recalled their kiss in that moment too. ‘What are you doing here? And how do you know where I live?’

Hannah rolled her eyes and looked behind her, peering anxiously as though expecting someone to walk out of the darkness and join her at any second. When she met his eyes once more, she looked pleading and inexplicably nervous. ‘I know this place, I’ve been here before when papa has stopped by to drop off linens if he can’t make it up to the hospital. Anyway, listen, there’s no _time_ for this now! You need to get everyone out, lock your doors, turn all your lights off, close all the curtains and pretend you’re not home. _Now_.’

‘What? Why?’

‘ _Because_ \- and I don’t know how, so don’t ask me- but Katharina heard about your party. And she’s coming to crash, and she’s not coming alone: Ulrich’s on his way as well, and a bunch of their friends. Who knows, maybe half the school will turn up for all I know. It’s a Saturday night, there’s not much else to do but throw or crash house parties around here. She called me to ask for the Kahnwald address, because she knew I’d have an idea. And I couldn’t say no, Michael. I just _couldn’t_! I.. I figured I’d cover your back by calling you ahead of time and give you the warning to get everyone out and lock up, but the calls won’t go through. I had to bike like a maniac the whole way here to get to you in time!’

Mikkel turned to check the phone back in the main room: it was still off the hook, swinging subtly on its cord. Of course, Mikkel realised with a surge of dread: Clara had knocked it off the wall earlier. He turned back to Hannah, who was now shuffling on her feet and chewing at her lip, looking positively restless. _Don’t look at her lips_ , he reminded himself, desperately trying to grasp the urgency of the situation.

‘You don’t have much time, Michael. And I need to leave before anyone catches me here.’

With one last wide-eyed, pleading look, she turned to leave, poised to pick up her bike and ride away into the night.

‘Wait!’ he yelled, much too loudly. He grabbed her hand, and she didn’t snatch it back, despite her mortified expression at the possible blow to their cover. Mikkel glanced over his shoulder, but he couldn’t hear anyone approaching. When he turned back, Hannah was waiting for him to continue, eyebrows raised expectantly. Her fingers twitched in his hand.

‘I just wanted to ask you… why? _Why_ did you kiss me that day at the lake?’

Hannah appeared dumbfounded at the question: Mikkel himself felt stunned the moment the words left his lips. And what followed was a remarkably rare moment, in which Hannah was the one rendered speechless instead of Mikkel. The silence hung between them like a secret, and he was irresistibly reminded of their last encounter, and the way she’d studied him before she had leaned in for that final kiss. Somehow, even their hands had found each other again. 

Mikkel was debating with himself whether to drop her hand or pull her closer, so consumed in the desire to feel her lips on his once more that he hadn’t even caught the light thud of footsteps quickly approaching from the main room. 

‘Michael, what are you-?’ The end of Regina’s sentence lingered unfinished in the air, the amalgamation of tension hanging so thick and stifling between the three of them. It was as though it had transformed into some sort of invisible snake, slithering and coiling around them now as they stood at the door. Regina’s face dropped when she took in the shape of Hannah, and the sight of her hand in Mikkel’s, so undeniably suggestive that the people before her were more than just mere acquaintances. She rose an eyebrow, and Hannah dropped his hand and cast him an unreadable glance as Regina huddled her arms against the cold night air now seeping through the door. ‘Hannah? What on earth are you doing here?’

Hannah seemed to be having trouble meeting Regina’s eyes: she folded her arms and focused instead on the empty space above Regina’s left shoulder, as though the unseen snake had settled there, hissing and unfurling its slippery tongue. ‘I don’t think that’s any of your business, Regina.’

‘It’s my business when it concerns my friend,’ Regina countered, lifting her chin just slightly and seeking Hannah’s gaze with infallible determination. ‘Why are you here?’

Finally, Hannah dragged her eyes to Regina’s, and the look of contempt between them was almost palpable in that moment. Mikkel shuffled nervously on his feet between them, desperate to divert the unpleasant tension that was rising as rapidly as the heat at his neck. He coughed and said, ‘she’s just here because… because…’

‘Don’t try to lie to me, Michael,’ Regina interrupted, eyes still locked on the dark-haired girl before her. ‘You were holding hands. I just… I don’t understand…’

‘What’s going on here?’ Max asked as he padded to the door, Charlotte and Clara close at his feet. ‘It’s freezing with that door open- oh, hi, um, Hannah, is it?’ He extended a hand in her direction in an offer of a warm introduction, but Hannah didn’t even glance his way: it was as though both girls were now locked in a silent communication, a wordless exchange that left Mikkel apprehensively speculating whether the mutual dislike was solely a result of his relationship with both of them, or if there was any more to it that perhaps even he didn’t know.

‘Who’s this, Michael?’ Clara interjected quietly when Max dropped his waiting hand. She was appraising Hannah as critically as the two older girls were assessing each other. ‘How many girls do you know, exactly?’

Hannah seemed to snap back to reality at Clara’s words, and raised an eyebrow in her direction before returning to meet Mikkel’s gaze. She uncrossed her arms and lifted her eyes to the endless black sky above them, quickly losing patience. ‘Ugh, for God’s _sake_ , we don’t have time for all this! Can we all just save the drama for another day? Regina, you and the rest of the nerds need to get out of the house and go home. Like, _now_. We’ve already wasted too much time here.’

‘Um… what’s going on?’ Charlotte said quietly, raising an arm to point over Hannah’s shoulder.

‘Oh, no,’ Hannah whispered as she turned on the spot to consider the fast-approaching bikes, cars and congregations of people heading towards the house. ‘We’re too late. We’re too _late_.’

She turned back to observe the others disapprovingly, but there was a nervousness to the way she chewed at her lip and glanced up at the smattering of white-gold stars above, as though they might grant her a wish and teleport her right out of this unpleasant situation. ‘Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you,’ she whispered, watching them all darkly before leaning forward and bringing her lips to Mikkel’s ear, ensuring the others wouldn’t hear. Her breath was delightfully warm against the coolness of the night air. ‘Don’t say I didn’t try to be a good friend. I tried, Michael. I really did try.’ She pulled away and her expression was a mask of cool indifference as she turned to greet Katharina and Ulrich, who were now steps from the door and joined by about forty other Winden teenagers still approaching the house.

Ulrich had an arm resting languidly across Katharina’s shoulders. Mikkel looked away: he felt terribly sick, and not only because of the hordes of Winden’s youth that were now pushing and parading past them into the house. But because any time he found himself less than ten feet away from either of his parents, it resurfaced memories of his old life and forcibly reminded him that these last two years had not been a dream: that everything was much, _much_ too real, and that he shouldn’t be here at all. He shouldn’t be looking at his eighteen-year-old parents in the flesh, shouldn’t be able to reach out and touch them if he so wanted.

‘Hannah, how did you get here so fast?’ Katharina asked as more and more teens swamped the house from every angle. ‘You know I said I’d give you a ride! And why haven’t you brought any alcohol?’

Katharina was looking at Hannah accusingly, but the lanky, teenaged Ulrich was watching Mikkel with interest from the corner of his eye.

‘Papa ran out… we need to restock,’ Hannah was mumbling, barely audible over the raucous screams of laughter and the swell of music which was now so loud it might well have shook the leaves on the trees beyond the house.

‘Whatever,’ Katharina yelled over the beat, reaching up to put a hand over Ulrich’s. ‘So, which one of you dorks is the birthday boy?’

Her eyes travelled between Mikkel and Max and back again. Hannah was looking at the floor, and Ulrich was still observing Mikkel warily.

‘I know you,’ Katharina announced abruptly after surveying Mikkel for a second time. ‘You’re the kid from the lake… the one who likes to put his nose in other people’s business. Of course, you’re Ines Kahnwald’s kid, right? Didn’t she adopt you because your real mama didn’t want you anymore? I mean, it’s not hard to see why.’ Katharina shifted so that Ulrich’s arm was no longer snaked around her shoulders, and took another step towards Mikkel: he might have grown taller these past two years, but Katharina loomed over him still, erasing his shadow with her own in the weak glow of the starlight. ‘Who would want a freak like you for a son?’

Mikkel wanted nothing more than to wake up right there and then: this nightmare had gone on for too long. Much, much too long. Yet when he looked in Katharina’s eyes as she stared him down, the familiarity was too great to be anything but confirmation of the cruel reality in which he now resided. Despite the callousness that pierced them, he could see for the first time that these were indeed his mother’s eyes: could almost recall the warmth in them when she’d tucked him into bed, or held him on those nights when he was sick. But now there was nothing but coldness there now, colourless in the pale light of the moon. But there was something else there, too. Buried beneath the bullying bravado. Something like pain. Or fear.

‘You leave him alone,’ Clara said quietly, scarlet as a blooming rose but with eyes as sharp as a thorn.

‘Oh look, dork, you’ve got yourself a new _girlfriend_! Got bored of waiting for Regina to drop her pants for you after all?’

Mikkel couldn’t decide whether he wanted to scream or cry or fight or run. There was simply no way this could be his mother. How could his mother be so vicious, so merciless?

Maybe his whole life prior to the moment he walked out of those caves were nothing but wild recollections of a vivid dream.

Maybe he really did just hit his head hard on those rocks.

Maybe he was crazy.

But those eyes… he knew those eyes…

_He had to remember._

Couldn’t let himself forget.

Even though life was so much easier if he just forgot…

Forgot who this girl was, who any of these people were.

And maybe he _was_ crazy…

No.

Not crazy.

Katharina took another step forward and hissed in Mikkel’s ear. The was none of the inviting warmth this time, not like with Hannah. Her breath was as cool and sharp as her eyes had been. ‘Here’s some advice, kid. Stay out of other people’s business, and especially, stay out of mine. Just because I don’t run the school anymore doesn’t mean I can’t teach you a lesson if I have to.’ She moved back so the others could hear. ‘And there’s something not right about you. I don’t know what it is, but maybe that’s why your mama left you out on the street with the rest of the trash. She knew you were all wrong.’

Ulrich was shaking his head as he moved to join Katharina’s side once more. ‘Honestly, kid. Do you go looking for trouble, or does trouble just go looking for you?’

‘Maybe it’s both,’ Mikkel muttered under his breath, hands balled into fists that shook at his sides: he could feel the tips of his nails break the skin of his palms and the prickle of throbbing heat as hot blood seeped from the half-moon punctures they left behind.

Ulrich chuckled lightly despite himself, but ceased abruptly when Katharina fixed him an accusatory glance.

It was Hannah that pierced the silence that swallowed them some seconds later. She stepped out of the shadows by the door, small and ghostly white in the milky gleam of the full-moon. She regarded Mikkel apprehensively before turning to Katharina. ‘Katharina… why don’t we all go inside? It’s freezing out here.’

Katharina shot Mikkel one last unreadable look, before nodding at Hannah and shoving everyone aside as she dragged Ulrich behind her by the hand.

‘You’re right, Hannah,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘It’s time to turn this kid’s party into a _real_ party.’

*

It was almost eight thirty, and the house was a riot of tightly-packed bodies, of music so loud it reverberated the pictures that hung in their frames on the walls, of emptying alcohol bottles and plastic cups filled to the brim with questionable substances. No one was paying Mikkel nor any of his any attention: they stood awkwardly in a corner of the living room, Regina periodically peeking through the curtains to see if Aleksander had pulled up yet. Mikkel just watched as the chaos unfolded before him, and his stomach roiled with nausea at what Ines might say if she found out. Katharina and Ulrich were drinking and conversing easily with a group of their friends near the table. Hannah had been loitering noiselessly beside them, although right now Mikkel couldn’t scope her out at all.

‘Where the hell _is_ he?’ Regina moaned after scanning the street through the window for the third time that minute. ‘We need Alex to get us out of this mess. He should’ve been here thirty minutes ago!’ Perhaps Aleksander would whisk his friends away, Mikkel thought privately, but he couldn’t take Mikkel out of this madness. He would have to stay, to pick up the pieces and salvage what he could when the ‘party’ was over, just in case by some miracle Ines didn’t hear about this unexpected intrusion.

‘Wait, someone’s pulling up,’ Regina announced following her fourth peek behind the curtain. ‘Oh wait… it’s not Aleksander… oh no… it’s…’

_‘Nikolas!’_

The front door opened swiftly with a crack like a whip. A tall figure with a mop of messy dark hair that fell just above his shoulders stood deviously at the entrance to the main room, donning a black leather jacket much like Ulrich’s customary accessory, except without the words ‘ _no future’_ tacked to the back in a middling tribute to graffiti. Ulrich himself went to greet the new arrival with an easy clap on the shoulder, offering him a beer.

Nikolas took a long swig, then said, ‘you didn’t think I’d miss out on a _party_ , did you?’ He patted the jacket pocket at his breast lightly, which distinctly protruded from his chest. ‘Besides, I brought a few gifts of my own.’ A shrewd wink.

Hannah swept back into the room shortly after: she’d just descended the stairs, and Mikkel wondered what on earth she’d been doing up there. The bathroom was downstairs, after all. There was no incentive to poke around upstairs.

She stopped short when she caught sight of Nikolas, who was already engaged in conversation with Ulrich, Katharina and some of the others, and fumbling around in his pocket while looking around shiftily. He came to an abrupt halt when his eyes found Hannah, however. Mikkel hadn’t seen Hannah anywhere near Nikolas since they’d broken up (and he wasn’t going to deny he wasn’t pleased about this, because he certainly was). Things had obviously ended badly, though he hadn’t pried any deeper into what Hannah had already told him. Hannah seemed to shrink just a little under his gaze now, and went to loiter alone in another corner of the room. She wasn’t drinking nor smoking: in fact, she looked as uncomfortable in this situation as Mikkel and his comrades surely did.

‘It’s almost nine o’clock,’ Regina said a while later, still anxiously awaiting Aleksander’s return. ‘What’s happened to him? What if he’s hurt or something? Got into an accident?’

But Mikkel wasn’t listening. He was watching Nikolas with narrowed eyes instead: it was already making his blood boil, knowing he was in this house. _His_ house. But hot blood turned into molten lava when he watched him making his way towards Hannah, who still stood nervous and alone in a corner. Mikkel had tried to make his way toward her earlier, but she’d shook her head and rebuffed his attempts to join her. His blood now sizzled so ferociously he wondered if his flesh would merely melt away as he watched them, Hannah seemingly so small under the sweep of his dominant shadow. No one else had seemed to notice anything, nor care if they had. But Mikkel watched, and he watched some more, and something unlike he’d ever felt before roused and stirred in every fibre of his being, every cell screaming for action, when Nikolas placed a hand on Hannah’s arm: she tried and failed to shake it off, to spurn his advances as he leaned in closer. And Hannah looked angry, indignant: but also, more than anything else, she looked _scared_. Uneasy. There was an irrefutable fear in her eyes as Nikolas shifted ever closer and whispered in her ear, hands idly exploring her body all the while.

Before Mikkel could stop himself, before he could even register what he was doing, he had peeled himself from the wall where he lingered with the others and strode purposefully towards the corner where Hannah and Nikolas were stood.

‘…so let’s go upstairs, then. No one has to know.’

‘ _No_ , Nik,’ Hannah sobbed under her breath, shrinking back into the wall behind her and twisting beneath his touch. ‘Just leave me alone.’

‘You know you want to,’ he persisted, voice low as his lips brushed the skin beneath her ear. Hannah’s face was furrowed with revulsion.

‘No,’ she repeated hopelessly, ‘I _don’t_ want to.’

‘ _Hey_ ,’ Mikkel interrupted calmly, taking a step closer and trying to keep his composure. ‘She said _no_.’ Hannah was so surprised to find him stood there, she stopped putting up a fight for just a second too long, and Nikolas took the opportunity to burrow his face in the crook of her neck.

‘Get lost, kid,’ he murmured hoarsely between planting intoxicated kisses on her neck. Hannah shoved at his chest with little success.

‘Just get off her,’ Mikkel hissed brusquely. His whole body felt aflame, hot and impatient and pleading for release of his rage. But Nikolas was ignoring him, disregarding him as some bothersome little kid getting in the way of his conquest. ‘I _said_ get off her!’

‘And _I_ said get lost,’ Nikolas countered, stepping back from Hannah in order to glare at Mikkel, who now hovered beside them. Yet he kept his hands on her waist to keep her from escaping his clutches. ‘Wait your turn or find some other slut to keep you entertained. This one’s mine.’

And at that moment, Mikkel knew he had lost it. He was angry.

So very, _very_ angry.

He took Nikolas by the shoulder, shoved him aside and away from Hannah. Positioned himself in front of him, pulled back his arm, ready to strike with no idea what he was doing.

_‘Michael!’_

All at once, a chorus of voices bellowed his name over the crescendo of music that shook the walls around them: Hannah, who fell back against the wall as Mikkel prepared to lunge his fist in the direction of Nikolas’ face; Regina, Charlotte, Max and Clara who stood anxiously in the opposite corner; and finally, Aleksander, who had just marched through the door and stood authoritatively in the hall, face hard as he watched Mikkel steel himself for impact. 

Aleksander’s sudden presence and commanding shadow as it swept across the floor were the last things Mikkel registered before Nikolas pulled back his fist and sent it sprawling into Mikkel’s left eye.

And then everything was dark. The only sound was a loud ringing that consumed him, forcing him to steady himself as he lost his bearings on who or where or when he was. When the ringing grew to a high-pitched whistle, he clutched and scratched at his head as if he could banish the very universe in which he stood and submit to the darkness itself. When it finally dulled and his vision returned, it seemed as though the room were a blur and whirl of colour: brightly twinkling, flashing stars filled the room. He could feel hands on his arms through his disorientation, hauling him away and into a corner, and he could hear a voice, a familiar voice, barking orders into the room.

‘Party’s over. Everyone out of this house. _NOW_!’

‘Are you okay, Michael?’ a girl’s voice asked. He knew that voice, too.

Mikkel blinked furiously; the piercing ringing was little more than an irritating echo somewhere in the distance. But now he was no longer dazed, he could feel the pain and soreness building rapidly around his eye, a strange numbness in the surrounding skin.

He’d just attempted to throw a punch.

 _Him_. Mikkel Nielsen. Michael Kahnwald. Whoever he was now.

And unsurprisingly, he’d successfully managed to get himself a fist to the face and a throbbing black eye instead.

‘I’m fine,’ he lied, watching people stagger from the room and exit the house, scowling and muttering under their breath as they carried bottles and cases of alcohol along with them. Nikolas was nowhere to be seen. Aleksander was looking positively livid as he ushered them out, though apparently this did not scare Katharina, who slid out of Ulrich’s arm to offer Mikkel a parting threat.

‘What did I tell you about staying out of other people’s business?’ she hissed quietly, fixing Mikkel with an unreadable glare. ‘If you put another toe out of line, I’ll give you a black eye to match the one you’ve already got. And _you_ ,’ she went on, nostrils flaring as she watched Aleksander approach, ‘you don’t scare me. You think you’re the only one who had to learn how to fight to get by? You don’t know anything.’ She straightened and swiped her coat from the table top. ‘Come on, Hannah,’ she said quietly, barely glancing over her shoulder as she strode across the room and met a waiting Ulrich by the door.

‘I left my coat in the kitchen,’ Hannah murmured, gazing absently at the floor. ‘I’ll be right behind you.’

‘Fine,’ said Katharina, curling her fingers into Ulrich’s hand. ‘We’re moving the party outside. We’ll be at the south-side of the lake, in the usual spot.’

Ulrich sniggered lightly, an imperceptible glint in his eyes. ‘I think some of the boys are braving the water tonight: they have the idea she only comes out at night and when it’s cold.’

Katharina looked oddly tense, shifting anxiously before fixing her boyfriend with an irritable glare. ‘There’s no dead woman in the lake, Ulrich. It’s just some story one of your loser friends made up to scare the little kids away from the spot when they want to get high there. Now can we _go_?’

Ulrich nodded, throwing one last loathsome look at Aleksander before lighting a cigarette and reaching again for Katharina’s hand. He stalked from the house and pulled her behind him. Katharina didn’t look back. It was only when the scrawl of ‘ _no future_ ’ at Ulrich’s back had disappeared from sight that everyone seemed to breathe a collective, deep sigh of relief. When the front door fell shut with a bang, Aleksander placed a hand on Mikkel’s shoulder.

‘Are you okay, Michael? What the hell happened here?’

‘Is it… is it bad?’ Mikkel asked tentatively, fingering the purpling bruise around his eye.

‘Can I suggest not looking in a mirror for at least a week?’ Max quipped facetiously, but Regina eyed him warningly and he quickly stopped grinning, instead joining Hannah in staring at the floor.

‘I’ll go into the kitchen and find an ice pack or something,’ Regina said gently before leaving the room.

Charlotte was distractedly twisting the end of her braid. ‘What will your mama say when she sees you, Michael?’

Mikkel shrugged. ‘That I should learn to swing a punch faster, maybe?’ he answered darkly, watching Hannah and silently daring her to meet his eyes.

‘You gave it your best shot, mate,’ Max piped up while Regina was still absent. ‘Even if you did fail spectacularly.’

‘Well, I think you look even cuter with a black eye.’ This from Clara, who was gawking at Mikkel now with uninhibited wonderment. ‘It makes you look… older. More reckless.’

At these words, or perhaps, more specifically at Clara’s words, Hannah finally dragged her eyes from the floor, eyes locking with Mikkel’s as though it was they and them alone that stood in this room at that moment. The contrast of silence that now filled every corner was so jarring compared to mere minutes later when the walls had trembled with the music. To Mikkel, it suddenly felt almost suffocating. And Hannah looking at him as intently as she was now wasn’t making him feel any less breathless.

‘I can’t believe you took a punch for me,’ she said at last, shaking her head in mild disbelief. ‘That’s actually… well, it was pretty cool.’ She shrugged, as though realising only now that the two of them had a complete audience for the first time ever. ‘That was… that was a bad situation you helped me out of.’

‘Michael would’ve done that for anyone,’ Regina said sagely, sweeping into the room with an ice pack wrapped inside a tea-towel in her hands. ‘Unlike your repulsive ex-boyfriend and your friends, Michael’s got a heart and actually cares when he sees others being mistreated.’

Hannah turned to look at Regina mulishly, but didn’t bite back. Instead she watched as Regina began to fuss over Mikkel’s eye, expression unreadable as she observed Regina’s fingers sweep Mikkel’s hair back from his face and place a hand to his forehead as she lightly pressed the swathed ice pack to his injuries. Hannah’s fingers twitched at her sides, although Mikkel wasn’t sure if this was a result of a feverish desire to throw a punch of her own at Regina, or (though surely it couldn’t be so) because she itched to tend to Mikkel’s wounds herself.

‘I don’t know why you’re here, Hannah,’ Regina continued tightly, not looking at Hannah, instead focused on applying the pack with just the right pressure. ‘Or what’s going on between you and Michael. And honestly, I don’t care. All that concerns me is that we both have Michael’s best interests at heart. And I want to believe that anyone has the potential to put their past behind them and become a better person. Even you, Hannah,’ she added sharply, moving Mikkel’s hand over the ice pack so she could move to give Hannah her full attention. ‘So if you genuinely care about Michael, then… then perhaps, you and I… well, perhaps we could be friends.’

She slowly lifted her arm, extending a hand to Hannah in a gesture of goodwill. Hannah, however, took a step back, initially looking rather confused, as though she hadn’t expected such an obvious token of friendship and kindness. But then she grimaced with revulsion as if that outstretched hand had somehow offended her instead. ‘You should really stop being so gullible, Regina. We’re not all capable of being the person you think we are.’ Her eyes flickered to Aleksander and then back to Regina in less than a second. Regina dropped her hand, let it fall to her side.

‘So,’ Hannah went on carefully, addressing only Regina: everyone else, including Mikkel, might well have not existed right there and then in his own living room. ‘How about you stay in your world, Regina, and I’ll stay in mine: Michael can be friends with us both, but that doesn’t mean we have to be friends with each other. I mean, it’s worked out so far, hasn’t it? And I’ll keep Ulrich and everyone else off your back at school, as much as I can, anyway: I can’t guarantee anyone will listen to me, but I really will try. But tell anyone about this,’ she added delicately, ‘and I can do just the opposite, too. You see, I could make the rest of your school days more miserable than all your previous combined. If I wanted to. If I had to.’

Regina couldn’t hide the hurt and betrayal that cloaked her features, but Aleksander hissed and seethed with resentment as he stepped between them and looked down his nose at Hannah with a fury so potent it was almost tangible. 

‘Get out of this house, Hannah,’ he ordered furiously, pointing in the direction of the door. ‘ Get out. And if you or anyone else in that school ever lays a finger on Regina, or Michael, or anybody else in this room again, you’d better pray I don’t hear about it. You might be a silly little girl, but if you try to hurt the people I care about, then you’re not the only one who can go around making threats. Now get out of here before I have to make another.’

Hannah shrank back slightly at his words, observing his pointed hand as though envisioning it posed differently, holding something between its fingers: a gun, perhaps. She chewed at her lip for several seconds, then headed in the opposite direction of the front door to retrieve her coat in the kitchen. When she returned, she did indeed heed Aleksander’s warning and made for the door as she shrugged on her coat. She paused, however, turning back to the others, who watched her with varying expressions of confusion and loathing. Mikkel hardly dared to breathe, skin numb beneath the ice pack. 

‘It must’ve been terrifying,’ Hannah said lightly, face impassive as she considered Aleksander from head to shiny-booted toe. ‘Escaping over that wall: Michael told me.’ Mikkel shrunk back, tried to merge into the shadows. ‘How fortunate it was that you wound up here in Winden, and that Regina here found you and took you under her wing.’ She paused, giving Regina a shallow nod before her eyes found Aleksander’s once more. ‘I’m really happy for you, Aleksander. Now you can stop hiding. From East Belin: the government, the spies, the war. Now you can finally just be yourself.’

Despite Hannah’s small stature and younger years, Aleksander was silent at her words: his eyebrows knit together tightly, and Mikkel made a mental note to question Hannah about all this at some point, as well as to reprimand her for revealing he’d exposed Aleksander’s story to her, in what he had hoped was confidence: but the bitter tang of a threat hung beneath those words, dripping as icily as the drops of water that clung to his cheekbones and swam down his face. He shuffled the ice pack, used the towel to wipe away the condensation. 

‘I’m sorry I ruined your birthday, Michael,’ Hannah said quietly, toying absently with the ends of her dark hair. ‘I told you I would, if I came. But I didn’t want to. I promise.’ She was looking at him now, and Mikkel felt immensely stupid, standing there with one eye buried beneath the towel and ice pack. But Hannah wasn’t laughing. She wasn’t even smiling. ‘I want you to be happy here just as much as they do. Really.’ 

She cast the group one last unreadable glance before edging open the door and disappearing through it. Mikkel expected a loud slam to follow her out the door, but surprisingly, Hannah closed the door gently behind her. Mikkel watched through the windows as she mounted her bike, barely visible under the black sky strewn with pale-gold stars as she rode away into the ominous, thorny clutches of the forest, no doubt heading (however unenthusiastically) to the lake and the party beyond. 

‘What was that all about?’ Regina asked Aleksander, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

‘I have no idea,’ Aleksander answered softly, still glaring at the spot where Hannah had stood moments before. He raised an arm and covered Regina’s small hand with his own. 

* 

The rest of the evening was spent rectifying the mess that had been left behind by the party crashers: the empty bottles and discarded paper cups strewn all over, the ash and cigarette butts littering the floor from Ines’ ash tray that had toppled from the kitchen side. Somebody had left behind a small bag of weed: Mikkel made to bin it, but Max pocketed it instead.

‘Could come in handy one day, you never know,’ Max said casually when Mikkel raised his eyebrows.

When Regina and Charlotte had finished tearing through the house with air freshener and all signs of a disturbance had been remedied, the group paused wordlessly to observe their handiwork.

‘Why were you so late, tonight, Alex?’ Regina asked quietly into the silence.

Aleksander tensed. ‘I… work… I was needed there. I’m so sorry, Regina. I didn’t think… I didn’t think _that_ would be the scene I’d come back to.’

‘This is all your fault, Clara,’ Max bristled a few minutes later, when Mikkel explained to them what Hannah had said about trying to reach him on the phone. ‘Hannah would’ve been able to call us if you hadn’t been so busy spinning round the room like a mad woman.’

Clara seethed and raised her eyebrows, endless objections ready to spill from her lips.

‘And I’ll bet Katharina heard about Michael’s birthday from you,’ Max went on, cutting her off. ‘You went to the lake this afternoon. I’d bet all my gold you were overheard blathering on about the party with your stupid little friends.’

Clara folded her arms and frowned. ‘Well, that’d be a lousy bet, since you don’t _have_ any gold.’

*

Mikkel’s friends departed sometime around midnight, leaving Mikkel all alone once more. He thanked them earnestly for all their help, all of them insisting they were happy to help and beaming as they bid him goodnight. Only Regina remained silent as they left, not looking at him as she crossed threshold of the door and slipped into the car. It was only when it drove away, taking his friends into the night, that Mikkel closed the door and made for the bathroom.

There were no lipstick stains on his cheek this time. No scarlet pigment that could be washed away with soap and water, all evidence disappearing down the drain in a blend of soapy suds. 

No. That purpling bruise wasn’t going anywhere soon. It wasn’t going to just wash away. It was going to serve as a constant reminder of what a fool he’d been. 

But had he? _Had_ he been a fool? A fool for thinking he could take on a boy much older than himself. A fool for thinking he’d be any good at throwing a punch. But not a fool for trying. Not a fool for defending Hannah, for keeping her safe and out of _his_ slimy hands. 

It was something that Magnus would’ve done, he was sure. Maybe even his papa. 

When he returned to his bedroom that night, ruminating over the lie he might tell Ines regarding his injury and praying that those gossiping colleagues of hers (or Hannah’s father, for that matter) wouldn’t spread the word back to her about a party at the Kahnwald house, he found something waiting for him on his bed. 

He crept forward and slumped on the bed, picking up the two pieces of paper beside him. The first, a rolled up piece of canvas paper: for one wild second, he thought it might be his painting of Hannah. But when he unfurled it, it appeared to be a sheet torn from a scrapbook: several polaroid pictures littered the page, including two of Mikkel, taken in profile and without his knowledge as he gazed out across the lake on a summer afternoon, lost in thought. Another picture glued to a corner was of him putting paintbrush to paper, sitting cross-legged beside the water in his usual spot at the lake. Yet another picture he had no idea Hannah had taken. In the centre and taking up most of the page was a photo of himself and Hannah: Mikkel remembered it well, the afternoon it had been taken. It was from summer just gone, the first time since he’d travelled back in time that he’d felt some kind of peace, some kind of acceptance of the situation he’d found himself in. He’d allowed Hannah to persuade him into posing for a picture of the two of them beside the lake, on the promise she would stop bothering him to pose for any others if he did so. Hannah was grinning widely, leaning into the arm that Mikkel had resting across her shoulder. But what made the scene most unusual was that Mikkel was smiling, too. Not beaming from ear to ear, not glowing like the sun as Hannah was. But a bashful grin was tugging at his lips nonetheless, mirroring the grin that was forming right there in his bedroom as he considered the picture. Seconds after the photo had been taken, a great summer rain cloud had concealed them under dark grey shadows and drained the colour from their lush surroundings. They’d jumped up and hastily scrambled around in preparation to leave, Mikkel having forgotten to check the photo in his haste to keep his own half-dried painting away from the oncoming rain. He’d forgotten all about it after that. 

The gaps between the photos had been filled in with various colourful doodles: drops of rain, thick grey clouds, strikes of lightning and autumn leaves. But beside the picture of the two of them, in contrast, was a small sketch of a butterfly, positioned as though resting on the corner of the polaroid and looking down at them both with a rosy smile. 

The second piece of paper was a scrap of lined notebook paper, revealing a hastily scrawled note:

_It’s not much of a present. Just something to say ‘thank you’ instead of ‘sorry’: I thought you might like it._

_Happy Birthday, Michael_

_Love_

_Hannah_

Mikkel had received a lot of thoughtful yet expensive gifts today.

But this one, for all its simplicity, for what it meant given who it had come from, was by far his most prized.

*

_December 1988_

The morning following the party had brought with it more anxiety and more nausea than Mikkel had believed he’d ever felt before. He’d successfully managed to avoid leaving his room until lunch time, insisting to a calling Ines from the other side of the door that he was merely exhausted from having slept poorly the previous night, which hadn’t exactly been a lie. 

But he couldn’t stay in his room forever. And when Ines had caught sight of his black eye over lunch, she’d dropped her pot of coffee straight on the floor: it had bled across the floorboards like slick brown blood, but Ines had been so taken aback she’d let the liquid seep across the floor and marched towards Mikkel, taken his head in her hands. She’d inspected the bruise deeply with her fingers. 

‘What on earth happened to you?’ she’d murmured quietly, shifting back and cupping his chin with her hand. ‘How did this happen?’ 

‘I don’t want to tell you... it’s... it’s embarrassing.’ 

‘What happened, Michael?’ Ines had repeated sternly. 

Mikkel had sighed: he’d already come up with a lie. He’d just had to hope that Ines would believe it. ‘It was nothing... me and Max, we were playing ball inside,’ he’d went on, pointing to the corner where he’d purposely brought in the basketball the night before to support his ruse. ‘I know we shouldn’t have had it in the house... I’m sorry. Anyway, he accidentally sent the ball flying into my face. Then this happened.’ He’d pointed to the bruise that had now fully blossomed on his left eye. 

He hadn’t known what made him feel more uncomfortable: lying to Ines, or the lameness of the lie itself. Then again, the truth wasn’t much ‘cooler.’ And it would surely have gotten him in much more trouble.

Ines had continued to hold onto his chin, inspecting him closely as if to detect his eyes for any hint of a lie: it had reminded Mikkel of something his real mother might’ve done in such a situation. Then she’d smiled warmly. ‘You’re right, that is embarrassing,’ she’d said, taking her hand from his chin. His real mother would have seen through that lie: she was a school principal, after all. Spotting a lying teenager came with the territory. ‘I thought for a moment you’d got into a fight or something. I realise now how silly that sounds. That’s so unlike you, after all,’ she’d continued, turning toward the mess of coffee on the floor. ‘To be getting into fights. And you’re friends certainly don’t seem like the type.’ 

She’d then grabbed a mop and instructed Mikkel to help her clean up and start on breakfast. He’d been more than happy to oblige. 

*

His return to school the following Monday had also presented a number of changes: for one, he was drawing a lot more attention to himself than he ever had before, without doing anything at all besides walk across the grounds or through the corridors. He’d suspected rumours must have begun to surface already, as Hannah had aptly warned him they would in Winden, and the school was no exception. A few students had given him looks of loathing, others had laughed under their breaths when he’d passed, or else gawked and pointed at the bruise that still lingered unmistakeably around his eye. He’d looked more than ever like a teenaged Katharina, who sported some kind of bruise more often than not. 

Even more peculiarly, however, were the looks of respect and admiration he’d drawn from a few of the other students: impressed, perhaps, that someone had tried to give one of the popular kids what-for, even if he _had_ failed miserably. It hadn’t been clear if others knew the true events of that night, and what exactly had induced Mikkel to react so uncharacteristically; he’d heard no mention of it, and had chosen not to investigate further. He’d wanted to put the whole event behind him, and the sooner his bruise faded the better. 

Besides the rumours that had begun to follow him and the assortment of glances he’d begun to receive, three of the girls in his life had also begun acting subtly different around him, which only became more apparent as the weeks went on and Christmas had drawn closer. 

Clara, for one, had become more besotted with Mikkel than ever before: she’d begun to feel rather like a permanent shadow, following him around everywhere he went, always lingering with her friends during break times out in the grounds. This hadn’t been a new phenomenon, of course: except by December it had become constant. Even Max had given up trying to berate and embarrass her away.

‘I’ve told her you’re not interested,’ Max had muttered under his breath one afternoon in early December. ‘But she won’t give up. She‘s convinced that one day you’ll feel differently and fall in love with her or something.’ He’d shook his head in disgust.

Regina, on the other hand, had been quite the opposite: that wasn’t to say she’d taken to avoiding Mikkel exactly, but rather, she‘d come to be much less tactile with him, much less open. He’d realised unpleasantly that perhaps, much like his family, he’d taken Regina just a little for granted. He’d known she’d perhaps always had a soft spot for him, be it his similarity to Mads or something else. But now she’d become slightly more distant with him: he ‘d wondered if she’d said anything to Aleksander about his relationship with Hannah, and how Aleksander might’ve felt about him as a result. But he hadn’t seen Aleksander since the night of the party, and Regina nor any of the others had mentioned him. But he‘d known Regina must have felt betrayed, felt hurt, even. He’d known he should’ve just told her from the start. And he‘d known he wanted to be open with her then, to explain, apologise, even. But since the party, he’d felt he’d never really had the opportunity again.

And then there was the girl in question herself: Hannah.

Hannah had been doing much better in the weeks following the party. Mikkel had wondered if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, much like his own, since the truth about their friendship had been revealed to his friends, even if it hadn’t been in the best of circumstances. But it hadn’t been lost on him that Hannah had taken a great risk that night, to show up at his house and warn him of the chaos that was to come. He’d known she hadn’t needed to, could’ve easily just stayed home and let the fires rage and burn without her. And maybe, he’d hoped, just maybe... some small part of her had wanted to use the opportunity to come to the party.

Either way, whenever he’d questioned her about how she might be feeling, or _why_ she might be feeling that way, she’d remained tight-lipped. But nonetheless, she seemed to have stuck to her word: neither Ulrich nor none of his or Hannah’s friends had bothered himself, his friends or, moreover, Regina in recent weeks. And Hannah has been more pleasant than ever during their stolen moments beside the lake (he’d tried to convince her to seek refuge in the library with him now the weather had grown intolerable, but with no luck, so they’d spent those hours instead wrapped in their layers of scarves and coats and sweaters, watching their breaths spiral and coil beneath the weak sun).

He’d tried to bring up the special gift she’d left for him that night (‘Hannah, about what you left for me that night on my bed...’), but again, his attempts were squashed (‘let’s not talk about that now.’). He not dared even bring up the other gift she’d given him barely a week before. It had seemed like she’s wanted to pretend neither their kiss nor the events of the party had happened, and for the sake of an easy life (well, an easier life... _easy_ was simply an impossibility), he’d given in and followed suit. Perhaps that was all it had been, after all... a gift. Maybe he’d felt more strongly about it than she had. Maybe she really saw him as just her kid-friend, or maybe she just enjoyed toying with his emotions. She was plenty good at it, that was for sure.

But he didn’t stop thinking about it. That kiss. His _first_ kiss. Even as Christmas approached ever closer, peeked just around the corner. Because it was nice, to think about something else. Something so normal and arguably mundane as first kisses, as opposed to everything else that usually plagued his mind on a daily basis. Or the nothingness that often filled his mind instead, on the days when it was easier not to think or feel at all. And thinking about that kiss made the core of his stomach twinge and shift with an all-too pleasant sensation.

Even though he knew it could never happen again.

*

Christmas in the Kahnwald household came and went that year, his third now in this new world, this world both with and without his family. By some miracle, Ines had never learned of the party or the truth of that night’s events: he had learned from Hannah that a few of the kids that had followed the party to the lake that night had been caught skinny dipping in the freezing waters in a drunken attempt to lure the infamous dead woman from the lake, and such a scandal had detracted from his own. Hannah had mentioned nothing to her father, and he suspected the other kids wouldn’t be so eager to admit they’d crashed the much-respected Nurse Kahnwald’s house.

So Christmas passed by as uneventfully as the last, except this time snowy afternoons during the winter break were spent under a white sky as pale as an ivory blanket, throwing snowballs or else building snowmen with his friends. It was Max, of course, who would ensure that a carrot pointed not only from the spot where its nose would be, which would leave he and Mikkel in stitches as Regina chided them for their childish behaviour. Charlotte, ever the mediator, would berate them through her own snorts of laughter, cheeks aglow beneath her woolly scarf.

*

_March 3 rd 1989_

When March the third arrived, so did Mikkel’s fourteenth birthday.

He much preferred his spring birthday to his autumn one: this one was real, it was quiet, it went by unnoticed, which was how he liked it these days.

Fourteen: he was _fourteen_! He was growing up, getting older. Was fourteen still a kid? Did he still look like one to everybody else?

He’d always been the baby of the family, after all.

Today was a Friday, and Ines was to be working another night shift, so he’d decided on a night in front of the TV, surrounded by blankets and snacks.

He wasn’t going to think about his family tonight, or what they might be doing to celebrate his birthday in his absence, if they were celebrating his birthday at all. If they even remembered.

Because Max had finally suggested that tomorrow they infiltrate the police station and steal that key. Finally, _finally_ , the plan was set, and, should everything go as expected, he would hold that map in his hands tomorrow evening. He would be ready to try again. Ready to do what he should’ve done two years ago: ready to explore those caves and find that tunnel hidden deep within its crumbling folds. _That_ was when he would think about his family. But not tonight. Not tonight.

Tonight it would just be him and the television. Perhaps a movie, if he could dig through the VHS tapes and find something decent. Maybe he would even grab some popcorn and make a proper night of it.

At six thirty that evening, Ines kissed him goodnight on the cheek, and as usual told him to call the hospital should he need anything. He knew that he wouldn’t.

And at seven o’clock, he was set for the night on the couch, nestled beneath several soft and woolly blankets (the chill of winter still lingered in Winden this year).

It was at seven thirty that his plans went awry.

Because someone was creeping around outside his window.

He placed his bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, flung off the blankets. He turned off the television in order to hear better: the room faded into darkness.

But someone was definitely lurking around outside. 

His papa? His mama? Had they come back for him?

Or Magnus, maybe? Martha?

He held his breath and padded towards the door. It was only as he flung open the door that he realised he’d been naive not to bring some sort of makeshift weapon with him, just in case.

He’d been right: there was someone stood at the other side of the door.

But once again, it was the last person he’d expected to see at his doorstep, and yet the exact same person he’d found there last time. 

‘Hannah?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. Poor Mikkel. All he wanted was a quiet little birthday get-together.
> 
> So, I just want to say… I know my writing wasn’t so great on this chapter. I could feel it when I read it back and edited. There was a significant gap between my starting it (a bunch of it was already written from the last chapter) and my finishing it. And much like the chapter title, there was kind of a lot of chaotic energy going on both in my life and in my head. So I couldn’t devote myself to this one as much as I really would’ve liked to. So… sorry about that. But I want to be honest.
> 
> Anyway, we’ve had some further interactions with Katharina, the kiss has still not been properly addressed (can someone just lock these two in a room and force them to address their drama/feelings?), Mikkel got himself a lovely shiner, drama and chaos was abound. And now Mikkel is fourteen and growing up fast, and Hannah has showed up at his door (when he’s all alone?!) Whatever could happen next? ;)


	15. We are Wanderers in the Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a blackout hits Winden, Mikkel and Hannah are plunged into darkness: but are secrets easier to reveal by candlelight? Later, Mikkel unwittingly stumbles on a revelation that reignites his desire to return to the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *crawls out of the caves in my skeleton onesie*  
> *peers all around, utterly confused*  
> *sees a newspaper on my doorstep*  
> *realises I’ve time-travelled a month into the future, and I haven’t updated this fic in all that time*  
> *begs for forgiveness* 
> 
> Seriously, I suck, and I’m sorry. But I’m back now. I’m all moved in to my new flat and will hopefully have much more time to write now, so fingers crossed we’ll be back to weekly updates from here :)
> 
> Thank you so so soooooo much to everyone who has stuck around to continue following Mikkel’s journey after all this time, and any new readers too. I love and appreciate you all more than you could ever know <3

Chapter Fifteen - We are Wanderers in the Darkness

_March 3rd 1989_

‘What are you doing here?’

Mikkel stood back as Hannah shouldered past him, crossing the threshold and shaking the rain from her dripping hair as she went. The night sky was an endless obsidian, blemished only with a smattering of bone-white winking stars: it was unseasonably dark and bitter given the early hour and the rumour of spring: it seemed as though winter was in no hurry to leave Winden this year. Mikkel watched as fat globules of rain splashed and spattered on the doorstep. He closed the door gently, listening to the click of the lock as he turned around to find Hannah, who was standing beside the staircase and looking somewhat nervous, wringing her hands anxiously.

‘Hannah?’ He couldn’t remember what he was asking of her now. He was consumed by the heady scent of rain and cinnamon that had followed her through the door and lingered in the hallway.

‘I told you I’d find a way we can hang out together somewhere besides the lake, didn’t I?’

Mikkel recalled that particular promise. ‘You’re soaked,’ he observed when Hannah shivered beneath her saturated layers. ‘Take off your coat and get warmed up inside.’ He nodded his head in the direction of the living room. ‘I was about to watch a film, so I’ve got a few blankets and snacks set up. I’ll make us both some hot cocoa, too.’

Hannah nodded, smiling imperceptibly as she pulled off her coat. Mikkel took it before she could reach for the coat peg beside the door, carefully hanging it up as Hannah raised a brow. Her grin grew just a little wider as she turned and made her way into the living room, addressing him from over her shoulder.

‘Thanks. Also, I saw Ines’ car driving to the hospital while I was biking around earlier. I figured she must be working a night shift tonight.’ She paused beside the couch and turned to Mikkel, who was just three steps behind.

‘Of course you did,’ he said when he joined her in the lounge. The pair stood facing one another, an awkward silence hanging between them. Mikkel slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans, unsure what to do or say next. It suddenly felt much too warm despite the chill beyond the walls of the house.

‘Bit dark in here, isn’t it?’ Hannah noted eventually, breaking the silence and seemingly more at ease already. She flopped languorously onto the couch and threw her legs across its length, though she was so short she barely took up half of the space regardless. She grabbed the red wool blanket Mikkel had thrown to the floor earlier and got comfortable beneath it, then reached for the bowl of popcorn, making herself at home.

‘So… what time does Ines get back?’ Hannah asked casually, throwing a piece of popcorn into her mouth.

‘Um, I don’t know exactly… usually around seven, seven thirty when it’s a night shift. If it’s a school night she usually gets home when I’m just waking up.’ He switched on the light and padded into the kitchen to begin work on the cocoa. He hoped he could whip up something palatable: Ines always made the best cocoa, and she always topped it with those mini marshmallows he liked. He immediately scoured the kitchen cupboards for the marshmallows as the kettle boiled.

‘What were you watching, anyway?’ Hannah called from the other room: he could hear the subtle groan of the couch as she rose and the creak of the floorboards as she crept across the room to the corner, where a shelf crammed with VHS tapes lined the wall.

‘Let’s watch this!’ she yelled moments later, just as Mikkel located the packet of marshmallows at the back of a cupboard. He nearly dropped it when Hannah entered the kitchen, brandishing the VHS tape of _Back to the Future_. ‘You know, the sequel comes out later this year.’

‘I don’t like that one,’ Mikkel mumbled as he turned away, loading each of the mugs with several spoonfuls of cocoa powder.

‘You’re crazy,’ Hannah said in exasperation. ‘Who doesn’t love this film?’

Mikkel remained silent as he poured the boiling water into the mugs, then topped each one with a generous topping of marshmallows. When he turned around, Hannah was no longer in the kitchen.

‘Does your mama often have trouble sleeping, Michael?’ Hannah asked as Mikkel returned to the lounge and placed the steaming mugs on the coffee table in front of the couch. She was crouched before a cabinet in the hallway, appraising the contents of the very bottom drawer.

‘I… I’m not sure. I think sometimes she does, why?’

‘No reason,’ Hannah said lightly, shutting the drawer and standing up straight once more. She shrugged, caught sight of the hot cocoa and grinned. ‘You know, I could get used to this.’

She collapsed on the couch once more and spooned some of the marshmallows from the surface of the cocoa with a hand before slurping the oozing contents from her fingers. ‘You could be a barista when you’re older. Or is it a baristo for boys?’

Hannah was draping the wool blanket carefully around her once more, legs tucked in this time, hands wrapped around her steaming mug. Mikkel wanted to chase Hannah up on the question of Ines’ sleeping habits, but instead he found himself staring at the vacant spot on the couch. He’d sat on this couch countless times with Ines, and just months ago he’d squeezed himself between his friends atop it, but suddenly it appeared an all too intimate space.

He and Hannah had always sat side-by-side on the log at the lake, or in close proximity on the blankets they would set out on the grounds. And it had been months, _months_ , since she’d kissed him that day as a storm had roiled and churned around them. She had clearly forgotten about it (or, perhaps, had chosen to forget about it): but he hadn’t. And although the awkwardness between them had long since dissolved since she refused to acknowledge the moment, Hannah continued to fascinate him.

He no longer knew anymore how he was supposed to feel about her, or how he really felt about her. Were they friends, destined to share a covert friendship that was no longer quite so clandestine? Fated to enjoy each other’s company but nothing more, never revealing their own secrets, never divulging anything too personal, if only to avoid feeling vulnerable before the other? Was he just the little kid she opted to use to save herself from feeling lonely despite having so many ‘friends’? And would it be so bad if that really was the case? No one deserved to feel lonely, after all.

Could they ever be anything more than friends? Did he even _want_ to be anything more than a friend to Hannah? She was a _girl_ , after all, and girls… well, he would be lying to himself if he said he still found them gross and unappealing. Two of his closest friends were girls, after all. But Hannah was wild and unpredictable and at times as turbulent as the storm brewing outside. But she had befriended him when no one else had, regardless of her intentions. She was inexplicably drawn to him, and he to her.

Except: did any of it really matter anymore, anyway, when tomorrow he would begin the first phase of his mission to return to the future? When he might leave her behind so very soon, along with Ines, and Regina, and Charlotte, and Max, even Clara? When he might see them again as adults, thirty-three years older than they were now, where perhaps he himself would be nothing more than a distant memory in their slowly aging minds?

And yet now, in some way, he had her cornered unlike ever before. She might well get up and leave, of course, yell expletives at him until his ears bled, slam the door behind her and ride off into the rain: he didn’t put anything past Hannah, as volatile as she was. But they were alone, and now felt a better time than any to take the opportunity to press her, to ask her _why_. _Why_ had she kissed him? What it had _meant_? _Was_ it just a friendly gesture? Did people who were _really_ just friends kiss each other? Had it meant anything to her _at all_? He needed to know these things, so he could simply stop speculating and focus on what _really_ mattered: getting back to the future. And no mad scientist, no DeLorean or stroke of lightning, was going to help him with that.

Mikkel carefully resumed his seat on the sofa and grabbed the remote, thumb poised over the play button. A second came and went. The another. Another after that.

‘Well,’ Hannah urged expectantly, eyebrows raised. ‘Press the play button, then. What are you waiting for? Ines to come home and join us? Because I’m sure _that_ would be an interesting evening…’.

More seconds ticked by. He was growing flustered, hot at the nape of his neck, debating with himself whether it was truly worth it, to run the risk of complicating things further between them.

Hannah reached for the remote, evidently frustrated. Mikkel pulled his hand away, and the remote along with it.

‘Wait,’ he said quietly, dropping the remote in his lap. ‘I want to talk first.’

‘About what?’ Hannah asked suspiciously.

Mikkel took a deep breath. ‘About what happened four months ago.’

Hannah appeared briefly staggered, but within the blink of an eye she had composed herself, opting instead to feign confusion. ‘Why? What happened four months ago?’

Mikkel sighed, let loose the breath he was still holding. He was tired of playing games. ‘Don’t play dumb with me, Hannah.’

‘I’m not playing anything,’ Hannah snapped, crossing her arms huffily and leaning back into the couch.

 _I’ve got nothing to lose_ , he thought _. Not if I don’t stay here. Not if I go back._

 _Maybe there was a chance this was all some messed-up dream_ , he told himself. _I could still wake up in my old bed in my old room as if the last three years had never happened at all. And none of it would matter anymore. Because that’s all it ever was: a dream._

He knew he was lying to himself.

But sometimes that was the only way to survive.

‘Why did you kiss me that day at the lake?’

There was no going back now.

Hannah was refusing to look at him. _Stubborn as ever_. But there was something comforting about that: he’d have been more unnerved if she actually _had_ opened up without some level of coercion. He patiently waited to be rebuffed.

‘I already told you, I don’t want to talk about it.’ _There it is._

‘Why, Hannah? ‘ he pressed. ‘Why did you kiss me?’ His neck was searing: why did he care so much?

Hannah rolled her eyes in exasperation, shifted slightly beneath the blanket. She seemed to be debating with herself on how much she should reveal.

‘ _Because_ ,’ she acquiesced at last, forcing herself to meet his eyes and exhaling so melodramatically that Max surely would have been proud. ‘You’re my friend, and I wanted to make up for all those birthdays I missed . I already told you that. Can we watch the movie now?’

‘Do friends usually kiss each other on their birthdays?’ Mikkel said quietly.

‘Well,’ Hannah retorted, clearly incensed. ‘Regina and Charlotte have kissed you, and they’re your friends, aren’t they? I don’t see you making a big deal about _that!_ ’

‘I don’t really think that’s the same thing,’ he mumbled, giving up. He reached for the remote in his lap, aimed it at the VHS player, poised to play his movie ( _The Goonies_ , a personal favourite).

‘If you ask me,’ Hannah muttered before his thumb touched base on the play button. ‘I think you’ve been thinking about it too much.’

Mikkel blanched, dropped his arm. ‘But _you_ haven’t, right?’

She shrugged, worrying at a stray thread on the blanket, curling and uncurling it between her fingers. ‘I think about a lot of things.’

It was like pulling teeth: how could someone be so infuriating and yet so compelling at the same time? ‘So… so that’s it? We’ll just carry on being friends who never talk to each other about anything more personal than the damn weather? I mean, that was the deal from the start, wasn’t it? Why should anything change now? Why should a kiss change a damn thing, right?’

Hannah started at him as if he’d just admitted he was a time-traveller. Shaking her head, she said, ‘what do you _want_ from me, Michael? You want me to open up to you, tell you my life story? Wear my heart on my sleeve like Regina does? Follow you around like a lovesick puppy like Clara? Or would you rather I just kissed you again? Is that what you want?’

Mikkel cringed inwardly, hoping the heat at his neck wasn’t evident on his cheeks: was it really so obvious? Hannah had once told him she was good at reading people: it was as if she knew too much about him, and at the same time she knew nothing at all, not about who he truly was, where he had come from. _When_ he had come from. ‘That’s… that’s not what I meant, Hannah,’ he stammered. ‘I just… I just wish we could be more honest with each other, sometimes. I wish… we could talk about…stuff.’

Hannah threw back the blanket, rising from the couch and gaining the upper-hand as she stood before him. The fire was well and truly lit now. ‘You want _honesty_ , Michael? That’s rich, considering you won’t even tell me where you’re _from_ , or how you wound up in Winden, or even when your real _birthday_ is! You think I’m not open enough with you? Well guess what, being friends with you is like being friends with a damn John Doe! It’s as if you just popped into existence, like one day you weren’t here and the next you were! Suddenly there you were, this kid with no past claiming he’s from the future because really, _really_ , Michael, you just didn’t want to talk about it. Your past, I mean. And you _still_ don’t. So don’t ask me to be honest with you about who I am or how I feel when you can’t even tell me your damn birthday, Michael! Just… don’t.’

The silence that followed her words cut the air between them like a blade. All that could be heard was the pounding of the rain against the windows. Hannah was red in the face, consumed with rage.

And she was right, of course. How could he argue with that?

He felt like an idiot.

He had _no right_ to ask for honesty when his whole life was a lie.

He swallowed, dropped his eyes to the floor, embarrassed and eaten up with guilt and regret. Maybe it was true that none of this would matter if he could get back to the future. Maybe. So why did it still hurt?

‘You’re right, Hannah. Can we just… can we just play the movie, please? Let’s just… let’s just forget this ever happened.’

But Hannah wasn’t finished.

‘Not yet. Why don’t _you_ tell _me_ why you punched Nikolas? _Why_ exactly you had to walk around for a week looking like you spent the night at Katharina’s place and got on her mama’s bad side?’

Just as Mikkel was wishing for a hole in the floor to open up and swallow him whole, the lights flickered and died instantly, concealing them in oppressive darkness: and this time they stayed dead. No tell-tale sputtering that could signal some kind of activity in the caves. The dim light of the TV faded: the wind whipped at the windows and rattled the panes.

‘Scheisse,’ Hannah groaned beside him. ‘Blackout. Probably the storm. Do you have candles?’

Mikkel nodded, then realised she probably couldn’t see him do so, so said ‘Yeah. In the kitchen. Give me a second.’

He rose from the couch and raised his arms in front of him in an effort to avoid bumping into anything: he was grateful Hannah couldn’t see him, because he probably looked like a fool as he blindly padded across the room and cautiously felt his way to the kitchen drawers.

‘I feel like an idiot,’ he confessed a few minutes later, when the last candle was lit and the warm glow of the flickering flames cast shadows on the walls. Several fat candles now scattered the living room, flames dancing soundlessly. Mikkel had never experienced a real blackout before: they weren’t common in his original timeline. He couldn’t decide if the scene felt cosy or spooky. Maybe it was both. Maybe in another situation, it might have even been somewhat romantic.

‘Don’t,’ Hannah muttered quietly as Mikkel folded back onto the couch. ‘I was wrong. To get mad at you like that. I just… I can’t answer your question, about the kiss, because… because _I don’t know why_. Okay? I don’t know why I did it. I just… did.’

It was as if the safety of the relative darkness had bolstered her aptitude for sincerity.

‘Maybe you thought you were dreaming?’ Mikkel suggested, shrugging as he offered her a wry smile he hoped she could make out in the dim light. It was something his mother used to say, whenever she had did something silly _: ‘You must’ve been dreaming!’._ Hannah was pale in the candlelight, her hair a long black curtain against a dimly-lit backdrop. He could see the orange flames reflected in her eyes.

‘You think I dream about kissing you? Please.’ Hannah snorted and the mood lightened just a little. She shifted as though she were trying to get more comfortable, but Mikkel could feel her moving a little closer to him. ‘You think too highly of yourself if you think that… but seriously, Michael, you need to stop asking me why, because I can’t answer that, and trust me when I say that I hate that even more than you do. I know a lot of things about other people, Michael. I keep my secrets: but others can be surprisingly careless with their own. And I don’t even know why I did what I did, or why I do what I do, sometimes. But you asking me to open up more, to be honest… it just reminds me that the one person I know the least about is myself.’

‘I think a lot of people feel like that, Hannah,’ Mikkel said softly, shifting closer himself. Her exposed vulnerability had him wanting to touch her, to offer a source of comfort in the safety of candlelight. ‘But I think you know more about yourself than you think. And I think maybe that scares you.’

She lifted her head, looking him in the eyes once more and frowning just slightly. ‘Stop being all wise and stuff. I’m older than you: I’m the smart one here.’

‘It’s kind of ironic,’ he grinned. ‘You opening up about not wanting to open up, I mean.’ The grin slid from his face at his next thought. ‘But… but I don’t ever want to make you feel uncomfortable, Hannah. I’d never push you too much to open up to me. I don’t… I don’t want it to be like… like I’m pressuring you or something. Because I’m not like…. I’d never…’

 _I’m not like Nikolas_ , he’d wanted to say _. I’d never pressure you into anything, never intentionally make you feel uncomfortable or vulnerable._

‘You know, it’s funny,’ Hannah remarked pensively, searching him. ‘And I know I’ve said it before. But when I look at you… I feel like I’ve known you for longer than I really have. The first day I met you, that day when you came in to the school looking for… your mama. I felt it: it was as if I’d already met you before. Like déjà vu, except that can’t be right. Right? Can you have déjà vu with someone you just met? I don’t even know.’

‘I.. I don’t know, either,’ Mikkel mused, trying not to think for too long about what that might mean: Hannah was observant, he knew. He hoped it was simply because Hannah was familiar with Ulrich, and as Mikkel himself was effectively an extension of him, it merely sparked a sense of recognition in Hannah. ‘Sorry for being a dick, by the way.’

Hannah laughed, smiled coyly: it was a rare occasion when Mikkel made use of a more distasteful lexicon. ‘I’m sorry, too. For being... for being me, I guess. Defensive. Unstable. Chaotic. I could go on with the adjectives but I’ll need to borrow your thesaurus first. ’

‘I should add that to my list.’

Hannah raised a brow, fixed him an questioning glance. ‘What list?’

‘I’ve been tallying up all the times you’ve forced yourself to apologise to me these last few months.’

‘Oh, _very_ funny,’ Hannah snapped, ruffled.

‘You drive me mad, Hannah,’ Mikkel went on, focusing on the flame that reflected in her eyes. ‘But don’t apologise for being you. I wouldn’t have it any other way. And anyway, you were right: I’m not exactly an open book, either. Maybe it’s better this way: if we both just keep our respective books firmly closed.’

Hannah nodded in agreement, although she didn’t look pleased about it. ’I don’t know how or why you ended up here, Michael. In Winden of all places. But I’m glad you did. Honestly. You’re kind of strange, and you don’t always say much. Although, you have been getting better at that, I’ve noticed. Less and less awkward silences as time goes by. But you’re also funny when you want to be. And well… you’re cool.’

Mikkel couldn’t resist. ‘No, I’m Michael.’ He grinned, but halted when he realised how easily he had referred to himself as ‘Michael’ instead of ‘Mikkel’: he hadn’t needed to think about it for even a second. It had just happened naturally, as if it had always been this way, as though things had never been any different. Was it happening already? Was Mikkel already becoming nothing more than a memory? A dream?

‘And… and you’re _almost_ kind of good-looking,’ Hannah said quickly. ‘When you’re a bit older, I’ll bet you’ll have even more girls following you around than you do now, and that’s saying something.’

‘But not you, right?’ Mikkel said quietly. ‘Because you’d never follow me around like Clara does.’

Hannah searched him appraisingly, apparently debating on her answer. ‘Well, it depends. If Clara got her hands on you, I might just have to. Just to keep her away from you.’

Mikkel couldn’t help it: a wicked grin swept his features. He hadn’t dared believe it, but this was the closest Hannah had ever been to admitting it: could she _really_ be jealous of Clara? ‘And why would that be? What’s wrong with Clara?’

Hannah looked at him as though he’d just asked why the sky is blue. ‘I think you mean ‘what’s _right_ with Clara? And isn’t it obvious: she _likes_ you.’ A pause, an imperceptible glance. ‘Do you like her?’

‘She’s… she’s, uh, _interesting_ , and she isn’t exactly bad-looking. Neither is Regina, or Charlotte, or a bunch of other girls in Winden. But… but they’re not you. I mean… I mean that… that they’re not _pretty_ like you are. At least, not to me, anyway.’

Hannah raised her eyebrows, smiled shyly. ‘You think I’m pretty?’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’

Hannah was mere inches away now. How had that happened? Had it been himself or had it been her who had closed the gap between them?

And she was looking at him, now, in a way he had to come recognise since last time it had happened: she was going to kiss him again.

And he was absolutely going to let her.

Those instincts took over once again: he closed his eyes as she leaned closer, readying himself to feel her lips against his once more, deciding in that moment that this time he would kiss her back. 

A flicker of light.

A hum of electricity.

Suddenly, light flooded the room. The VHS player clicked softly as it started back-up.

‘Well, great,’ Hannah groaned, shifting away to lean back into the couch, looking rather deflated.

‘We should go to bed,’ Mikkel said quietly, feeling far too breathless and far too disappointed to say anything else.

Hannah raised an eyebrow, the corners of her lips tugging in amusement at the unintended implication of his words. Mikkel wished they were sat in darkness again.

‘I… I didn’t mean-‘ he started.

Hannah held up a hand in front of him. ‘Stop, stop: I know what you meant, Michael. But what about the movie?’

But Mikkel no longer felt in the mood for a film: _The Goonies_ would have to wait. And so the pair bickered over who would take the bed and who would sleep on the couch: Mikkel firmly refused to let Hannah spend a night on the sofa, and so, several minutes and a call from Ines later (‘the blackout! Are you okay, Michael? Do you need me to come home?’;’ _NO!_... I mean, no, I’m fine, you stay at work...’), Mikkel was leading the way up the creaking stairs, rain still clattering and pounding against the window panes and walls. It was much cooler upstairs. Mikkel wondered if he might not really be dreaming, leading a girl to his room like this. Innocent though it was, it marvelled him nonetheless.

He pushed open the door, switched on the light, and stood back to allow Hannah to enter the room first. He inwardly cringed as she did so: what if she thought his room childish? He might have been fourteen now (unbeknownst to anyone but himself, of course, although he knew Hannah had her suspicions), but his room was still littered with toys, books, comics. A few primitive 1980’s gadgets. His desk sat at the wall beside his window, his science homework strewn over its surface, neat handwriting contrasting with roughly-drawn diagrams cluttering the pages. And his walls: they were laden now with posters: his favourite movies, his favoured soccer team. But most worryingly of all were his many paintings that festooned the walls: his very earliest creations, when his art had amounted to little more than nonsensical lines and swirls of colour, to his most recent works, from the glittering expanse of the lake and the surrounding clusters of fir trees at sunset, to the snow-capped mountains of the book Ines had gifted him over two years ago, to more abstract pieces that even he himself couldn’t describe effectively, knowing only that they were merely illustrations of his own complicated, stifling thoughts. A painting he’d most recently finished was now tacked to the wall, concealing the Houdini poster that still hid beneath it.

Hannah stood in the centre of the room, observing every inch of this private, personal space. She turned slowly to consider it all, and when she caught sight of his flustered expression, she teased, ‘what’s up? Never had a girl in your room before?’

‘You’re very funny, Hannah,’ Mikkel mocked, although he felt somewhat relieved as he closed the door behind them. She was right, though: he’d never had a girl in his room before, not unless you counted Ines, and somehow he didn’t think that was the same. It was making him feel a little… nervous.

‘I like your room,’ she said with a smile. ‘Although, I’ve been in here before, you know. But I didn’t get long to look around, then.’

‘Oh,’ he said, suddenly remembering the night of his party. ‘Right. Of course. That’s where you disappeared to that night.’

‘You noticed I’d gone?’

Mikkel silently cursed himself for inadvertently admitting he’d been keeping tabs on her for most of that night, but Hannah turned away, moved on to his wall of paintings, discerning them more closely.

‘Did you paint all these yourself?’ she asked, gently tracing the curve of those blushing mountains he’d captured just days after they’d shared a kiss in a rising storm. Mikkel nodded.

‘They’re amazing,’ she said faintly, moving on to the next. ‘You’ve really improved.’

‘Thanks,’ he mumbled, sure his cheeks must be as rosy as those mountains.

‘You still have your painting of me?’ Hannah asked suddenly, turning to face him.

He was caught off guard by the question: when he’d recovered a second later, he moved to his desk, pulled open the drawer, and extracted the painting from beneath the piles of stationery. He took out another roll of paper, too.

‘There’s two of them,’ Hannah observed, peering curiously at both scrolls in his hands.

‘This one is the original,’ he said, unfurling it and passing it to her. ‘I meant to give it to you at school that day, but… well, you know…’. He felt it best not to bring up any sour memories for either of them after the rocky night they’d had so far.

‘And this is… an updated version. I wanted to give this to you as a gift on your last birthday, but… I don’t know, I guess I just chickened out. Figured you wouldn’t like it.’

He passed the second roll of paper to Hannah, let her unfurl it herself. He held his breath as she took in the painting.

‘I don’t know what to say, Michael,’ she whispered a few seconds later, looking up to meet his eyes.

Mikkel caught sight of the painting in her hands: it was the same painting in basis, a spawn of the original. But the second painting had been forged a year after the first, with more detail, more defined brush strokes, more advanced shading and colour work after another twelve months of practice. And this time, Mikkel had managed to capture Hannah in a way more akin to how he saw her, bright and glowing and almost ethereal against the backdrop of brush and fir trees. And most importantly, of course: her nose no longer resembled a pear.

‘Thanks, Michael,’ she said, standing almost on tip-toe to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. As the scent of cinnamon overwhelmed him, he privately hoped she might move to kiss his mouth as she had done before, but instead she simply shifted away and glanced at the bed.

‘Well, I better be getting to bed: I’ll have to get up early if I want to sneak out of here before Ines gets back. I don’t want to think about what she’d have to say if she caught me in your bed.’

Neither did Mikkel: the thought set his cheeks aflame, the back of his neck burning like hot coals.

‘Right, well… I just need to grab my pyjamas,’ he said, moving to the neat pile of freshly-laundered clothes Ines had left beside the laundry basket in the corner. ‘Have you brought any?’

‘No,’ Hannah admitted unremarkably, moving to place his paintings on his desk before perching on the edge of his bed. ‘This was kind of an impulse visit, remember? Anyway, I’ll be fine: I don’t need them.’

‘You’re going to sleep in your clothes?’ Mikkel asked, locating his least embarrassing set of PJs before eyeing Hannah once more.

‘No.’

He dropped the PJs. They fell to the floor at his feet.

‘Oh,’ he said, his voice cracked and breaking. Another silent curse: damn puberty, or nerves, or whatever the hell it was. _Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it_. ‘Um…’

Hannah snorted with mirth, completely unabashed. But then she caught sight of something in the corner beside the washing basket.

‘What’s this?’ she asked as she moved to pick up whatever had caught her eye. Mikkel’s stomach dropped when he realised it was the stuffed bear that Clara had gifted him for his birthday, which he’d hidden out of sight behind the laundry basket. Ines must have spotted it earlier, when she’d left his laundry in his room. He felt a bit sick all of a sudden.

‘Oh… it’s… it’s nothing…’ he mumbled, flushing as he reached to collect his fallen pyjamas.

‘Nothing?’ Hannah repeated, observing the bear with a look of disgust. ‘Doesn’t look like nothing to me.’

‘It’s just a birthday gift I got last year,’ he stammered, hoping she’d drop it.

‘Well, I don’t need to ask who this was from,’ she muttered, and quite literally dropped it: or rather, tossed it, back behind the basket. ‘It’s got Clara written all over it.’

‘Hannah, I-’

‘Goodnight, Michael,’ she said sharply, leaving no room for objection. She marched back to the bed and reached over to switch off the light, plunging the room into darkness. He could just about make out Hannah turning away from him under the bed covers.

With a sigh, he left the room: he knew all too well that he had been dismissed.

*

_March 4th 1989_

When Mikkel woke the next day, it was to the sound of someone scraping a shoe down the trellis that concealed the exterior wall outside the living room. In summer months, the trellis would be wreathed in maple ivy leaves across its length, but right now it was bare and someone seemed to be using it as a ladder.

And then he remembered.

He shot from the couch like a bullet, crept to the window, and watched as Hannah landed surprisingly nimbly onto the ground. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail like the old days, and she offered him a wicked grin and a wink before she reached for her bike and rode away into the arms of the forest. He hoped this at least meant she wasn’t holding any grudges after last night: as interesting as the evening had been, it could have ended on a lighter note. 

Mikkel glanced at the clock: six thirty in the morning.

With a sigh, he collected the empty bowls of popcorn and the mugs from the coffee table and brough them into the kitchen. Then he folded the blankets and quickly swept up the stray popcorn kernels that littered the floor. When he was satisfied that the living room looked inconspicuous as always, he trudged back up the stairs to earn a few more hours sleep before setting out later that morning to meet Max: they had their police station adventure to attend to later that morning.

Hannah, not unsurprisingly, hadn’t made the bed, and the sickly-sweet teddy bear still lay on its side behind his laundry basket.

Mikkel couldn’t help but notice that the portraits he had shown Hannah last night were no longer atop his desk. He checked the usual drawer, and the one besides: they were gone.

Hannah had taken them.

Throwing himself onto his bed, he closed his eyes, as if he stood a chance of falling back to sleep: all he could smell was Hannah on his sheets. Those distinctive notes of cinnamon and overwhelmed him. Innocent though it was, it felt very weird indeed to think Hannah had spent a night in his bed. Without clothes. Even if he hadn’t been in the bed with her.

He lay staring at the ceiling, trying no think about Hannah’s bare skin brushing the fabric of his sheets, Hannah lying right where he lay then in nothing more than her underwear. It made him feel lightheaded as he replayed the previous evening in his head like a film, until he heard the sound of Ines unlocking the front door and walking into the kitchen to make a coffee. Half an hour later, after giving up on sleep entirely, he crept out of bed and went downstairs to join her with a lie about an uneventful night spent studying by candlelight.

*

Mikkel and Max were walking down the corridor of the police station, Mikkel just a step behind Max, who was taking the lead on this particular mission.

‘Play it cool, let me do all the talking or you’ll mess up the whole operation,’ Max muttered under his breath as he approached his father’s office. The office that had once belonged to Mikkel’s own father.

‘I know, I know,’ Mikkel snapped, feeling anxious. ‘You distract him while I grab the key. Got it. How exactly are you planning on distracting him again?’

‘I’m going to tell him Sofia’s pregnant with my child,’ Max said casually, turning a corner.

‘What?’ Mikkel said, stopping mid-stride.

‘Relax,’ Max whispered, grabbing Mikkel’s arm and setting him in motion once again. ‘I’m only joking. Do you think I’ve finally lost my marbles or something?’

‘So what are you _actually_ going to say?’

‘Well, just the fact that I’m even turning up at his office is kind of a big deal. He knows I’d never dare set foot in here unless I really felt like I had to. You’ve met him briefly, you know what he’s like: he’s a workaholic, and he’s focused. He doesn’t like to be disturbed, least of all by me, his disappointment of an only son.’

‘What makes you think he’s disappointed in you?’ Mikkel asked quietly as they approached the door and lingered before it: thankfully, both the door and window blinds were snapped shut.

‘You don’t know my father like I do. I’m his only son: he expects a lot from me. Too much. Sure, he gives Clara a hard time now and then, but she’s still his little girl. And the twins are still too young to lecture: not that he doesn’t try. Plus, they’re girls, too. Anyway, he’s always pestered me about following in his footsteps in the police force, or going off to college when I finish school. And I’ve always put my foot down. I’ve never had any interest in working here, or going to college. I want to open my own magic shop out in Berlin. I doubt I’d get much business here. Unless I opened an umbrella store or something: that would probably do pretty well, to be honest.’

He shook his head like a dog, freeing the early spring rain that saturated his hair as if to prove his point. He’d said all this quietly, as though his father might have an ear pressed to the other side of the door, listening in to their conversation with distaste.

‘Anyway, getting to the point: I’m going to tell him I’ve been thinking about my career prospects, and I’ve decided I want to be just like him: police chief of Winden. He’ll lap it up, trust me. It’s all lies, of course, but it’ll keep him distracted and in a good mood. I’ll ask him to take me for a tour, to get him out of the office. I’m sixteen later this year, and next school year they’ll start putting a lot of emphasis on careers. I’ll tell him I’ve been reflecting and this is what I want.’ He waved a hand carelessly at the office door behind him.

‘But… wont he be mad when you _don’t_ actually come and work here?’

‘Probably. But I’ll be older then. I can leave home. Leave Winden. It won’t matter by that point, what he thinks.’

Mikkel nodded silently, but his heart went out to Max nonetheless: he might have left the father he remembered behind, but at least their relationship had never been strained. Mikkel had always known his father had a soft spot for him, had always let him get away with tricks his mama had not. A dullness settled in his chest at the memories: they were fading, they were fewer, but those he still held onto made his heart sink when he recalled them.

After a few deep breaths, Max told Mikkel to hide behind the corner and wait for him and his father to leave the office, hopefully after ten minutes or so. When Mikkel was stationed at the wall, Max knocked and slipped inside the office door, leaving Mikkel alone to watch the occasional hustle and bustle of the police station from his quiet spot. It was hard to take in the walls, the floors, the people, and know his papa no longer belonged here. His papa in the future, well, who knew where he was now, if he existed at all: was he in the insane asylum, growing older and greyer by the day? Had that truly been his papa after all? He’d begun to doubt. As for the teenaged Ulrich, the Ulrich of this time: well, he was probably sat at his school desk, ignoring his teacher and carving expletives into the wood of his desk with his pen.

Mikkel became restless when fifteen minutes came and went: he kept glancing at his watch, watching the seconds and minutes tick by. Twenty minutes… thirty minutes…

And then finally, finally, after forty-five minutes, when Mikkel was sat on the floor and debating whether to go home and give it up as a bad day, he heard the door of the office click open and the familiar voice of his best friend as he exited into the corridor.

He peeked around the corner, watched as Mr.Döhring closed the door behind him. For a tense moment, Mikkel feared he might lock it behind him, but he didn’t: he called Max to follow him as he marched down the corridor. Mikkel was surprised to see him give Max a friendly pat on the shoulder as he watched their retreating backs disappear into the throng of officers, and he wondered what kind of conversation the two had shared for the past three-quarters of an hour.

When he was confident the coast was clear, he took his chance: glancing around to ensure no one had spotted him, he slipped inside the office, closed the door behind him, and evaluated his surroundings.

Recounting the most likely locations for where the key was stored according to Max, Mikkel swept across the room and stood at the desk, observing how clean and organised it appeared in comparison to how he had seen it last, on the day he arrived in 1986. When it had been under the supervision of, he knew now, Egon Tiedemann: Regina’s deceased grandfather.

With a deep breath, he pulled open the closest desk drawer and shuffled through the contents. And his heart leapt when, seconds later, he caught sight of a thick bronze key shoved right at the very back. He closed his hand over it, felt the coolness against his skin, then pocketed it and closed the drawer quietly.

That had been too easy. Far too easy. He hoped it was the right key, but in case it was not, he scoured the rest of the drawers, the desk, the entire office, just in case, but did not stumble across anymore keys: at least, not any he could access without a key. A key to a key, he mused to himself as he treaded the path back to the door. And then he paused.

He surely had a few minutes to spare: more than a few, in fact. He’d found what he and Max were looking for far quicker than they’d anticipated. He wondered if it might be worth searching the office for something else of interest: something, anything, that might give him any clues about his parents. About the old man he had been so sure was his papa, or about the so-called ‘crazy woman’ who had apparently come looking for him at the school while he’d been up at the cabin.

He peeked through the blinds, and when he saw the corridor was empty, he took a seat at the desk and began to scour the folders and papers at random.

This, it turned out, was a bad idea.

Because minutes later, Mikkel’s heart dropped to his stomach when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps and Max’s voice sounding outside the office. He checked his watch: he’d gotten carried away, and the minutes had ticked by much quicker than he’d realised, invested as he was in his own personal detective work. He’d been inside the office for almost twenty minutes.

And now there was no escape. There was no hiding. Nothing to be done except be caught red-handed.

And caught he was.

He had the good sense to move away from the desk into the middle of the office, at least, but besides that, he was practically paralysed as he watched the door open and met the eyes of Winden’s current police chief, Max entering behind just a beat later, his jaw dropping at the sight of Mikkel in a way that would have been comical at any other moment. But not now. Not like this.

‘What exactly are you doing in my office?’

Max looked as though he were holding his breath. Mikkel realised he was, too. The key burned in his pocket as he threw around for some kind of credible explanation.

‘You’re behind this, aren’t you?’ Martin Döhring turned to his son, looking positively furious. ‘This was all some ruse to go sneaking around my office, wasn’t it?’

Max looked about ready to pass out, and Mikkel wasn’t about to let his friend take all the blame. Not at all confident that this was going to work, he spewed out the story that had just clicked in his head, hoping for the best.

‘Please, sir… I mean, Mr. Döhring… this… this has nothing to do with Max.’ Martin turned back to Mikkel, eyebrows raised in cynicism. ‘I… uh… I… I mean, Max asked me to wait outside the station for him. He kept going on and on about how excited he was to talk to you about working here. Following in your footsteps and all that. But he was nervous and needed my support before he spoke to you. Anyway, I… I got bored of waiting, and came looking for him in your office. And… and I couldn’t resist poking around, because… because… well, you see, my papa was a police chief like yourself. He had an office just like this one, where… where I used to live. And I… I got to thinking about the man who… who said he was my father, summer before last. I… I wondered if I could find out anything more about him, or why… why he wanted to take me away from Ines. And… and the woman, too. I heard about… about a woman who came looking for me while I was away.’

The silence that followed his words was palpable. Mikkel wondered if he had been convincing. He should’ve been: much of his speech had been the truth.

Apparently, Martin seemed to think so, too. ‘I see. Well… I suppose that’s understandable.’

Max practically deflated behind his father, who now crossed the office and took a seat behind his desk, looking significantly more sombre.

‘But you won’t find anything in here. The case with the disturbed man who tried to run off with you has long since closed and is filed away along with all the other closed cases: the man is deranged, and has been for many years. Back in the fifties he used to claim every other kid in this town was his own, apparently. Like I said: deranged. Sad, but that’s the truth of the matter.’

Mikkel nodded, studied the floor as Martin went on.

‘And as for the woman who seemed to think she was your mother, son,’ he continued as he took out a cigarette and lit it with ease, ‘who knows what happened to her. If you ask me, she should’ve been locked up in the mental hospital along with the old man. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were colluding with one another, but the old man never said a word about her. Rest assured, she hasn’t been sighted in over a year. I’m not sure why you were the target of their madness, but know that you’re safe with Ines Kahnwald now. She has your best interests at heart.’

He took a long drag from his cigarette, watched Mikkel through the cloud of smoke that curled from his lips, filling the office with the rich scent of tobacco. Mikkel was looking up now, alerted the second he’d heard the word ‘mother’. His heart was beating far faster than it had when he thought he’d been foiled just moments ago.

‘She…she thought she was my mother?’

‘Oh, yes,’ he said casually, taking another drag. ‘She was adamant about that.’

‘What… what did she look like? Did she tell you her name?’

‘I can’t recall her name, though I don’t think she ever told me, and like a homeless woman.’ He observed Mikkel curiously now, seemed to notice how he had tensed at his words. ‘I mean, she was blonde, blue-eyes, a little curvy. A bad temper, I remember that. Wanted to know more about the old man who took you to the caves that summer, as if she didn’t already know all about him.’ A chuckle, another drag. Another curious look in Mikkel’s direction. He sat up straighter in his chair.

‘Of course, she wasn’t your mother, was she, son? This mad woman? Not a relative of yours at all?’

Mikkel met Martin’s eyes. On the outside, Mikkel remained nothing but composed. On the inside, he was screaming.

He shook his head. ‘No… no, my mother had dark hair.’ Another lie in the life of Mikkel Nielsen. Perhaps a truth in the life of Michael Kahnwald: he was thinking of Ines. ‘Dark hair, dark eyes. I… I don’t know who that was. But she wasn’t my mother.’

Martin softened, put out his cigarette in the ash tray on his desk.

‘Well, it’s like I said… it’s all in the past now. Take a leaf out of Max’s book and think ahead: think of your future. Leave the past behind you: that’s the spirit.’

Mikkel turned to Max, who still stood by the door and blushed furiously at his mention: it reminded Mikkel irresistibly of Clara. And then Martin stood, walked to the door, and opened it, gesturing to the corridor beyond.

‘Now, if you two don’t mind: please get out of my office, and if I catch either of you in here again without my permission, I promise that neither of you will leave unscathed.’

*

‘Have you thought about becoming an actor? Because that was a world-class performance.’

Outside in the safety of the corridor, the boys lingered a good way away from the police chief’s office.

‘I thought we were done for,’ Max went on.

‘So did I,’ said Mikkel, pulling the key out of his pocket.

‘Was any of that true, what you said? About the old man who tried to kidnap you? And the crazy lady who came looking for you up at the school? Do you know them?’

‘No,’ Mikkel said without thinking twice. ‘No idea who either of them are.’

Max raised an eyebrow as though not entirely convinced, but then glanced behind him before turning back to Mikkel.

‘Well, go wait outside: it’ll test his patience if he catches you still in here.’ He waved a hand in the direction of his father’s office. ‘Give me the key and ten minutes to work my magic.’

*

True to his word, ten minutes later and Max joined Mikkel outside. Lunchtime was fast approaching, and the sun hung a little higher in the sky when Max pressed the map into Mikkel’s hands with a frown.

‘You know, this whole operation was more trouble than I reckon it was worth,’ Max muttered as Mikkel gazed at the map. The map that could lead him back to the future. Back home.

Because now he knew without a doubt: it had been his mother who had come looking for him. He was sure of it. Who else could it have been?

She’d come looking for him, and now he was going to go looking for her.

And there was something else too: somehow, he needed to visit the mental hospital.

He needed to speak to his father.

‘What makes you say that?’ Mikkel said moments later, when he realised Max was still awaiting some form of an answer.

‘Well, my father’s signed me up for eight weeks of work experience, for one: I have to shadow him at work every Saturday morning for the next two months, so that’ll be fun.’

He mounted his bike and Mikkel followed suit, tucking the map into his coat pocket. ‘At least it’ll give me a chance to sneak the key back into his office before he notices it’s gone. Hopefully.’

Just before they set off in search of lunch, Max turned back to Mikkel with a sigh.

‘Honestly, Michael. These caves better be worth it.’

*

_April 15 th 1989_

Six weeks of exploring the caves, both with and without Max, and Mikkel had gotten nowhere.

After the first week, Max had already begun to lose interest in the winding, stony walls that twisted and turned beneath Winden’s expanse.

After the second, he’d begun to complain about how cold and dark it was, how boring this ‘adventure’ had turned out to be, taken to listing suggestions of other adventures they could be having instead (‘let’s have a look around the Doppler mansion: no one lives there anymore, it’s sitting there empty, and I heard that’s where Bernd was killed, so I’ll bet it’s haunted too).

And after the third week, he’d abandoned their cave explorations entirely.

So, for the last three weeks, Mikkel had taken to the caves alone.

He was grateful for the time that Max had stuck around, nonetheless: it had given him the confidence to brave the caves, finally, under the guise of an ‘adventure’, a bit of reckless fun between friends to fill those long, tedious hours with little to do in a small town like Winden.

He’d gotten past the worst of it: the beginning. And it was thanks to Max that he even owned a map of the caves in the first place.

He visited the caves almost every day, fuelled with fresh determination since his revelation about his mother at the station. It had become a habit: more than a habit, an obsession. Almost. He’d even passed up afternoons with his friends to spend hours beneath the grounds of the town, map in hand, navigating the stony labyrinth below. His heart still beat frantically with each turn, and the map still shook between his trembling hands, but he marched on regardless, scribbling notes on the map as he went. He knew there was more to the caves than what was established on the map, but he hadn’t found it yet.

His most recent exploration had been just yesterday, however.

And it might well have been his last.

For Mikkel had seen something that had stopped his heart: or rather, someone.

Not his mama. Not his papa, either. Not Magnus, nor Martha. None of his family at all.

He’d seen Jonas.

Jonas, in his bright yellow raincoat, as Mikkel had seen him last.

Except it wasn’t so bright or so yellow anymore.

Because Jonas was drenched in slick, black liquid, of the like Mikkel had never seen before. It most closely resembled oil, except Mikkel couldn’t imagine why that would be.

And Jonas was looking at him just feet away, expressionless and calling to him: ‘Michael.’ Not Mikkel. _Michael_.

Mikkel had frozen, paralysed, unsure if what he was seeing was real or imagined. Wondering whether his desire to return home, his yearning for some familiarity of his life before, had begun to manifest into a bizarre vision of the boy who had led him here in the first place. He was torn between running toward him or running far away instead.

_I’m not afraid. I’m not a baby anymore._

But in the end, he’d run from him anyway. He’d ran through the caves, fled from its mouth into the safety of a honey sunset that was melting across the corpus of spring trees and dappled their damp

leaves in gold. Free from the stifling darkness, he’d regained his breath, held back tears that fell anyway. And then he’d bolted from the scene on his bike without a second glance. 

It was a whole month before Mikkel went back.

*

_May 1989_

There were three primary thoughts that occupied Mikkel’s mind as the weeks went by.

1\. The caves and his map: he visited as often as he could, scribbled notes wherever possible, and no longer felt the desperate grip of fear he’d once felt whenever he’d slipped into the mouth of the cave. But the caves these days were silent and unyielding and, as they always had been, endless. It felt like there truly was no end and no beginning whenever he headed deeper and deeper into the labyrinth, wandering in the darkness for something, anything, to point him in the right direction. Initially he had been certain he was just walking around in circles, so had taken to leaving clues of his own so he could know what parts of the caves he’d already explored. Like Hansel and Gretel and their infamous breadcrumbs, he’d leave innocuous items like bottle caps or a bit of string at certain points along the way.

But that had only worked for so long: when he caught sight of a large rat scurrying along with an acorn he’d picked up and pocketed from the forest floor to use as his own ‘breadcrumb’, he knew he needed a more stable method to keep track of the checkpoints he was plotting on his map. What he _really_ needed was to figure out just how widespread the caves were, and the land in which they snaked under. By doing that, he might at least figure out another exit point or place of interest. For the time being, however, he’d used spare rocks to carve faint marks on flatter expanses of the cave walls that would distinguish one from the other: one small dot to mark one spot, two for another, and so on. And though he knew he was making slow progress, his conviction remained. After his revelation at the police station, he had been shaken into action. He could no longer sit around doing nothing, waiting for answers that were not forthcoming to fall into his lap. And this brought him to his second pondering.

2\. The whereabouts of his parents. He was certain he knew where one was, if he was correct in believing it was him: but where was his mother now? She’d been here, he knew that now: she’d been looking for him. But no one had seen her since then, if Martin Döhring’s words were anything to go by. Would she really have gone back to the future without him? Or had something happened to her here in the present? _The past_ , Mikkel would remind himself often. _This is the past_. But how could the past be the past if you were living in it? By very definition, the past was his present. But thoughts of his mother troubled him deeply, and only his searching of the caves gave him any solace or true sense of progress. It was the only way to find any answers to his questions. The only way to know if she really _had_ left him behind, and if so, why? Because he was needed here? Because it served a purpose? And if she had left him here for a purpose... why didn’t she at least say goodbye first?

3\. And finally, the only thought that troubled his mind that one could consider a vaguely normal teenage burden: his relationships with his friends. Or more accurately, with two in particular: Regina, and Hannah.

Regina had softened since November, seemingly choosing to accept that Mikkel and Hannah had fostered a secret friendship, and had done so for a long time. And thus, all was back to normal amongst the group. Yet Mikkel still harboured guilt in not confiding in Regina sooner, given their complicated history. When he eventually found a time to apologise, Regina wouldn’t hear of it.

‘You deserve to be happy, Michael,’ she’d interrupted, holding up a hand and offering him a smile. ‘And if being friends with Hannah makes you happy, then that makes me happy, too. Just don’t keep secrets from me again. At least, not ones as big as that.’

Likewise, Hannah too had stuck to the status quo and avoided any talk of her secret overnight stay at the Kahnwald household, nor what had almost transpired between them again: it might well have never happened at all. Just like their own pasts, discussing the complexities of their relationship was simply off the table. It was simply easier to ignore it, brush any questionable moments off, like dust under a rug. After all, that was what Mikkel was doing every day when it came to the reality of his situation, and the identities of those around him, including his own. But how long could you survive ignoring the elephant in the room? Would it shrink into the shadows like he’d once thought? Or would it rage instead, knocking you off your feet and causing chaos and distraction, all the while dragging you along for the ride, until all you could do was stop struggling to escape, give up screaming for help, and just accept that this is the fate in which you were dealt?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be up tomorrow, I have it all written, I just need to edit, and it’s a little longer than this one. It takes a look into the last day of school (and no it is NOT smooth-sailing lol) and Regina’s birthday, along with everyone’s career plans and plans for the future. I teased an upcoming content warning in the comments which will be in this chapter too, so just be prepared because it might be kinda awkward for some readers. 
> 
> Until tomorrow! Thanks for reading :)


	16. We are All Full of Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikkel starts having nightmares again, and the last day of the school year doesn't quite go as planned, with unexpected results. Regina celebrates her eighteenth birthday and shares her plans for the future, while Mikkel struggles with his growing adolescence and questions his morality in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back with another chapter as promised! 
> 
> PLEASE CHECK END NOTES IF YOU THINK YOU MIGHT BE SENSITIVE REGARDING THE NATURE OF CERTAIN TOPICS EXPLORED IN THIS CHAPTER. Probably won’t apply to any of y’all but jic. There will be minor SPOILERS for this chapter in the end notes. 
> 
> Anyway! 
> 
> I’ve been overwhelmed with everyone’s comments and will be going through all of them over the next week and catching up on everything because I know I’ve got a lot of it to do! :’) 
> 
> Anyway, here you go! Enjoy :D

Chapter Sixteen - We are All Full of Sin 

_May 1989_

Mikkel was having nightmares.

It had been some time since his sleeping hours had been purged by ominous visions of the winding caves, the walls coiling like an endless snake far beneath the forest town. Or of his family so close yet so far away, or of a world where he hadn’t travelled back in time at all, where everything was both so familiar and yet so foreign.

He’d grown accustomed to the fog that had settled on his mind, learned to function with it as one might without arm or a leg, as though his body and mind had simply adjusted to a life that felt fictitious and fraudulent. Or perhaps the fact that he’d settled into a normal sleeping pattern had simply overridden the hazy numbness.

But then the nightmares came back, and so had the sleepless nights. And so the haze took precedence once again, and so did the fatigue and vague lucidity .Familiar half-moons left dark shadows beneath his eyes, purple crescents for all to see.

And see they did. Ines had quickly taken note of his diminished appearance, questioned him profusely. She was now back to lingering at his bedside in the evenings until he’d downed his evening beverage.

It was Jonas who haunted his nightmares now. Jonas, a shape in the darkness, slick with that dark oil. Calling to him. And then Mikkel would wake, and there Jonas would be, lying beside him, watching him sleep.

And then Mikkel would wake again, sweat plastered to his forehead and his pyjamas clinging to his skin, and this time the bed would be empty.

As the weeks went by, Mikkel fell back into normal sleeping habits, and though the nightmares became fewer, they did not halt completely.

And so Mikkel begun to forget. He forgot about that day in the caves, what he’d seen: what he thought he’d seen. Convinced himself it was just one of his nightmares that felt more vivid than the others, being the first of its kind. Of course his mind would conjure images of Jonas: those caves were intrinsically linked to him, because Jonas was the origin of Mikkel’s experiences in that stony labyrinth, had led him through it in the first place.

It was his mind, scratching at all memories, forcing him to remember what he’d already begun to forget. And what he was now beginning to forget all over again.

Because when Mikkel braved those caves once more a month later, map in hand, he didn’t encounter Jonas again.

He saw Jonas now only in his dreams.

Only in his nightmares.

*

_July 21st 1989_

When July rolled round, so did the end of the academic year. Except more than just school was ending this summer.

‘My mama would be so disappointed,’ Regina sighed as she, Charlotte, Mikkel and Max gathered outside the school that early summer morning. ‘She always wanted me to go to college.’

The stubborn winter had finally made way for the beginnings of spring as April came and went, and now a buttery, mellow sun hung in a cloudless sky. Winden was once again a forest of olive and juniper and peppered with wild, colourful flora as the promise of a long and sweltering summer hung in the air.

Regina and Charlotte were discussing their plans after the summer break, as both would be leaving student life behind them when the final signal of the school day rang.

‘Regina, you were literally the top of the year in your exams,’ Charlotte reminded soothingly, trying to placate a nervous Regina. ‘You can go to college any old time. Besides, I think opening a café here in Winden is a great idea. You said yourself we need more places people can just hang out. You can only spend so many days at the lake before your fingers fall off in winter, and let’s not even talk about the library. Old Ernestine knows her books, but there’s only so much I can take of her snapping at us whenever one of us dares to sneeze.’

The group had spent so many afternoons in the library on colder days that they were now on a first-name basis with the old librarian, who remained as stern as always, but seemingly now had a soft spot for them thanks to Charlotte and Regina, who had a genuine interest in literature and were quite happy to let old Ernestine advise them on what book to read next. She’d even taken to ordering in newer editions of Mikkel’s favourite comics, and Max had an uncanny ability to work his own charm by dropping her a compliment or two with a winning smile whenever they stopped by.

With that said, any chatter was to be kept to a minimum, and any conversations were to be hold in whispers. There would be no compromise on that, no matter how many times Max told the old librarian that her tweed cardigan was looking extra-crisp today.

‘Yeah, and I’m sure the tourists will be just lining up to visit Winden,’ Max added, brandishing a hand at the school grounds as though a line of tourists could indeed be seen there.

‘Welcome to Winden, where we have more trees than people, but there’s a massive lake and one tiny café to rest your weary legs after a long day of walking around and looking at the trees all day. Don’t forget your tent, because we don’t do hotels here, and remember to stay away from the power plant unless you want to end up dead or else mysteriously vanishing from existence. Enjoy your visit and come again soon!’

‘Max!’ chided Mikkel and Charlotte in unison, each smacking him across a shoulder because Regina still seemed too anxious to resume her usual role of light-hearted beatings.

‘That’s totally insensitive, you idiot,’ Charlotte scolded, shaking her head and putting an arm around Regina’s shoulders. 

‘No, he’s right,’ Regina said, ringing her hands and taking a deep beath. ‘Who would ever want to come here of all places? I know that, but… I think I’m doing this for me, to keep me busy until I feel… ready. You know, to go to college, if I want to. And for Winden, because like Charlotte said, we need more things to do here, and who knows? Maybe I’ll actually enjoy it: running my own café. I’ll least I’ll feel in control of one element of my life.’ Regina discreetly touched her arm, grazing the pale white scars that flecked her skin.

‘Are you going to employ anyone?’ Mikkel asked, averting his eyes so as not to make it obvious he’d noticed.

‘I’m sure I’ll need to,’ Regina answered, seeming more at ease now this to the distracting questions. ‘I’m a useless cook. And probably an even worse waitress. Although I make the greatest coffee in the world, according to Aleksander: of course, he’s a biased source, so let’s take that with a pinch of salt for now.’

Regina had first revealed her post-education plans back in April. Since her mother remained missing and was presumed dead, her assets would be transferred to Regina upon her eighteenth birthday in August. And as a result, Regina would be very financially stable indeed. And with this imminent wealth, she’d decided to purchase one of the old, abandoned buildings close to the centre of town, once used as an inn and refuge for prisoners of war in the 1920’s but had since been left deserted for over fifty years. And with a bit of work and restoration, she hoped to bring it back to life and become her own boss. And if it failed? Well, Regina seemed certain she’d have more than enough money to live a comfortable life regardless. 

‘Well, I’m just going to break the news here and now,’ Max announced, turning to Charlotte with a grim expression. ‘Charlotte: after today, you and I can no longer be friends.’

‘What? What in Winden did I do to you?’ Charlotte asked exasperatedly, eyebrows raised to the heavens.

Max shook his head and sighed theatrically. ‘Well, isn’t it obvious? I can’t be friends with a _cop_. That’s just _asking_ for trouble. What if I go skinny dipping in the lake this summer and then you get me arrested for public indecency or something?’

Mikkel and the girls burst into snorts of laughter as Max folded his arms and tried to maintain an expression of complete seriousness.

‘I don’t think you need to worry about that, Max,’ Mikkel teased almost a minute later, rubbing at his chest. ‘If anyone is unfortunate enough to set eyes on you in all your naked glory, they’ll be too busy trying to drown themselves in the lake instead.’

More shrieks of mirth erupted from the girls, as Max appraised Mikkel up and down and raised a brow. ‘Oh yeah? And what, you’re some kind of Adonis underneath them shorts of yours, are you, Michael? Because I can’t see anyone lining up to catch a glimpse of you in your birthday suit, either.'

Mikkel waited for Max to give it up and break into laughter, and when he did, so did everyone else, so that all of them were left feeling in high-spirits by the time the signal for first period rang.

‘Well, I can think of at least _one_ person who would just _love_ to see what Michael’s hiding in those shorts of his,’ Regina teased as the group began to make their way to the school doors. And then her face fell as she looked across the grounds and said: ‘Maybe even two.’

Mikkel knew Regina was referring to Clara initially: she’d nodded just ahead of them, where Max’s sister could be seen walking through the doors amidst her two best friends and Ben, a boy in her class who Mikkel knew she had a soft spot for, giggling and tossing her long, sandy hair over a shoulder.

But who was the second person? Mikkel quickly received an answer to that question when he followed Regina’s eyeline across the grounds, to where Hannah was walking beside a towering Ulrich not too far away, hurrying to keep up with his long-legged strides and looking smaller than ever beside the gangly schoolboy. The pair joined the throng of students making their way towards the entrance to the school, and just a little behind them were Nikolas and Jürgen. Hannah was laughing at something Ulrich had just said, and Mikkel’s gut twisted sharply.

When he turned back to catch Regina’s eye, she was looking at the ground and avoiding him, and the others either hadn’t noticed or else had made the decision to leave the comment unacknowledged, instead focusing on moving through the crowd.

Mikkel could feel his heart beating a little faster in his chest. What had Regina meant by _that_? That she thought Hannah saw him as more than a friend? Did she know more than Mikkel would have liked her to when it came to his relationship with Hannah?

Just as Mikkel and his friends approached the door, Regina was shoved by the swarming crowd into Ulrich’s shoulder. He turned, caught sight of Regina beside him, and snapped, ‘watch where you’re going, Four-Eyes.’

Ulrich had left Regina alone since the incident on Mikkel’s thirteenth birthday last November, presumably as a result of Hannah’s influence. He supposed that all pretences were dropped now, with it being the final day of school for both Ulrich and Regina. But Ulrich just dusted off the shoulder of his jacket, as if Regina might have somehow tainted the worn leather, before shrugging and allowing an anxious Hannah to steer him on through the doors. Hannah threw Mikkel an unreadable glance over her shoulder as she did so.

But then she was swallowed by another tall and gangling figure, a familiar and unwelcome presence that Mikkel knew would also be leaving the school after today. Nikolas was striding toward the door, and had surely witnessed the scene that had just occurred, because as he pushed his way through the crowd, he looked back and offered Regina a glance of his own: his brows were raised and his eyes were bright with interest, and he was smirking with amusement: and something else. He turned away as he slipped through the door.

‘What was all that about?’ Charlotte asked the group curiously as they headed through the door themselves a few moments later.

Regina was still watching darkly as Nikolas strutted down the corridor ahead of them and disappeared around a corner. ‘I don’t know,’ she said quietly. ‘And I honestly don’t care.’

*

When the final signal of the day filled the school halls and grounds, Mikkel felt a strange blend of emotions: elation at the thought that school was over for an entire summer, endless days free and open to explore the caves and ride around the lush landscape of Winden on his new bike with his friends: Ines had gotten him a new bike for the summer, since his old one was now much too small for his growing frame. But he also felt a sense of sadness: Regina would be working on her business with the café in September when he returned to school, and Charlotte would begin her training at the police station. But this also meant that people such as Ulrich and Nikolas would be leaving, too: he would no longer be forced to set eyes on either of his teenaged parents every day anymore, and seeing the back of Nikolas was of course a cause for celebration. But Mikkel wondered how Hannah would adapt at school next term without either Ulrich nor Katharina, as she, like Mikkel and Max, would be returning for another year of school in September.

Mikkel and Max lingered outside the grounds, waiting for the girls, who arrived sometime later, cheeks tear-stained and evidently emotional.

‘You know, it’s funny,’ Regina said, voice wobbling. ‘I always hated this place. The people made it feel more like a prison than a school. But then I met all of you, and for the first time in my life, I had friends. I lost my mother, and I have no idea if she’s alive or dead out there, and yet somehow I gained all these new friends that care about me. Maybe even more than she ever did. And Aleksander, I don’t know where I’d be without him. It’s all so overwhelming, how much life has changed recently. And it just keeps on changing.’

Mikkel placed a hand on Regina’s shoulder as Charlotte wiped at her own tears, now flowing freely down each cheek and dripping from her chin. Even Max didn’t have the heart to taunt her, and surprised them all when he wrapped Regina in a warm hug that she gratefully accepted. It wasn’t long before both Mikkel and Charlotte joined in, and all four of them were wrapped up in one another’s arms, each a source of comfort the other so desperately needed and rarely found anywhere else.

‘It’s the end of an era,’ Charlotte said a few moments later, ‘but... it’s scary... moving on to the next chapter of your life with no idea what’s ahead, what the future holds. I wonder if… if my parents would’ve been proud of me today. And your mama, Regina. And your parents too, Mikkel, if things had been different.’

They rarely spoke of it, but it was true: only Max came from a home that wasn’t truly broken in some way or the other, although Mikkel knew he had a somewhat strained relationship with his father. But Regina had no relationship at all with her own father, had not spoken of whom she thought he might be, and had lost her sole parent and her grandfather in one day. And Charlotte, although much less open on the subject than Regina, was being raised by her grandfather with no idea who her real parents were. She kept the details to herself, however, and no one felt it kind to press bee on the matter.

Even Hannah, mysterious and concealed as her home life was, had no mother in her life anymore, as far as Mikkel knew. It seemed to him that his friends had their own complex pasts, their own sombre stories to tell, lives that on the surface were all smiles and laughter and lazy bike rides on long summer days, but beneath the murky waters were nothing but secrets and lies and heartbreak.

He was special, he knew: he had time-travelled, a secret that haunted him every day, more so since he’d taken to the caves again. But his yearning for his family, for a sense of normality, in feeling that a part of him was missing, he could share here with his friends. He wasn’t alone in feeling abandoned in one way or another, in feeling lost or incomplete. And that only made him love them more.

And that, in many ways, was a problem. It was harder to leave your past behind if the people you loved were apart of it. And that went for both of his pasts: the past that was the here and now, and the past that was also the future. It was as if no matter where or when he ended up, he would be leaving a part of himself behind.

Just as they were about to leave the school with plans of an afternoon spent lazing beside the lake under a cloudless sky, Ulrich, Hannah, Jürgen and Nikolas exited the school doors. It was only then that Mikkel noticed Katharina loitering just beyond the grounds, presumably waiting for Ulrich as she so often did these days. She made her way towards them, meeting Ulrich with a lingering kiss in the middle of the grounds.

‘Free at last,’ Mikkel heard him say when they broke apart. Katharina smiled in a way that made Mikkel feel uneasy, until he realised why: it was a genuine smile, carefree and _happy_. It reminded Mikkel of the way his mother used to smile when he was a child and she was a middle-aged woman rather than a jaded teenaged girl. For one wild moment the little boy in him wanted to run right over there and beg her to wrap him in her arms and tell him everything would be okay like she used to.

But that was then and this was now. Now, he was a few years older and his mother was many years younger than they had been in those fading, comforting memories. Now they were different people.

While Katharina and Ulrich were too wrapped in each other to notice, Nicolas caught Mikkel and his friends attempting to leave the school grounds from the corner of his eye, and stopped mid-conversation with Jürgen before making his way over to them.

‘What the hell is he playing at?’ Mikkel muttered under his breath as Nikolas approached, all swagger and confidence. But Nikolas ignored Mikkel, as he did Max and Charlotte too. It seemed he had eyes only for Regina in that moment.

‘Regina,’ he said with a smirk, looking her up and down with a unrestrained hunger in his eyes. ‘I’ll be sorry not to see you around everyday anymore.’

‘My boyfriend will be here soon, Nikolas,’ Regina said tersely.

‘Oh, _that_ idiot,’ Nikolas said with a snort of disgust, but he looked nervous nonetheless as he surveyed the grounds for signs of Aleksander or his car. When he was confident Aleksander was nowhere to be found, he turned back to Regina and took a step towards her, tightening the gap between them. ‘He works at the plant, which means he should be all the way over _there_ right about now.’

‘Get lost, Nikolas,’ Charlotte said bravely, as Max nodded and rolled up his non-existent sleeves, ready for a fight he would inevitably lose. Mikkel could feel his fingers twitching, his blood boiling: he was not a violent boy by nature, but something about this slimeball had every cell in his body screaming for another chance to throw the punch he’d failed to land last November. He could see Katharina, Hannah, Ulrich and Jürgen beyond Nikolas’ shoulder, watching the scene unfold: none of them appeared amused, but none of them made to break up the scene either. They continued to observe as Mikkel turned back to Nikolas, who was now growing irritable. He ignored Charlotte and continued harassing a clearly anxious Regina.

‘Look, let’s not beat around the bush here, Regina,’ he went on, appraising her body up and down once more, his eyes lingering on the skin of her exposed legs in her summer shorts. ‘You’re hot. Even with that bushy hair you had and those geeky little glasses you used to wear, I knew there was a hot girl in there just screaming to be set free. And now here she is, stood right before me.’

Regina was looking distinctly uncomfortable, though she still stood her ground , meeting his eyes with her own in an act of defiance, though she remained silent: Mikkel suspected she was working up the courage to speak again, and he wondered when Nikolas would cross the line so he and Max had an excuse to lay a few blows on him: or at least, attempt to. If Ulrich got involved and punched Mikkel too, so be it: let it spiral into a fight for all he cared. A part of him almost wanted Ulrich to take a swipe at him, if only for some sort of closure that the teenage boy just feet away from him could never be his father. Not anymore.

Nikolas crossed that line when he spoke next: ‘You were always off limits for anything more than a fuck when we were both just little school kids, what with me being at the top of the food chain and you being right down there at the bottom.’ He raised his hand and then lowered it several feet as if to demonstrate just how far apart they were in social status around school. ‘But look how things have changed. We’re both adults now, you and me. How about I take you for a ride?’ He motioned to his motorbike parked on the road outside the school, but the sexual implications of such an offer were not lost on any of them. ‘I promise you won’t regret it.’

Max and Mikkel shared a knowing look and a shallow nod at either side of Regina, and braced themselves for attack, but Regina held out her hands to stop them before they could take even one step towards their target.

‘Don’t’ she said quietly, head held high. ‘I can handle this.’ She turned back to Nikolas. ‘Nikolas, I’m not interested. Please, just leave me and my friends alone. I’m asking you nicely.’

This only incited him more, which came as no surprise to Mikkel.

‘Playing hard to get, Regina? Didn’t take you long to open your legs for Aleksander, though, did it? And rumour has it these two have had a go, too.’ A subtle nod to Mikkel and Max, flanking her at either side.

Mikkel wasn’t going to wait for instruction this time. He wanted another chance to teach this idiot a lesson, even if all it earned him was another glowing shiner and a lot of awkward questions from Ines. Repercussions and consequences be damned.

And then Regina did something that surprised everyone, most of all Nikolas: she slapped him, hard, across the face.

There were several tense seconds where the world went silent except for the sounds of cars driving by, the whisper of the trees in the light breeze or the occasional song of birds in the distance. There were still a number of other students vacating the school premises around them, but for just a moment, the chorus of chatter died as people turned to observe the commotion.

‘You’ll pay for that, bitch,’ Nikolas spat in a low voice, eyes burning, no longer with desire but undisguised fury and disgust. He shoved Regina to the ground.

Charlotte and Max ran to her aid, but as Mikkel raised an arm to land a blow, he felt a hand grip his fist and shove his arm back down by his side.

‘Are you asking for another black eye, kid?’ It was Ulrich, a weary Katharina at his side. He turned to Nikolas and motioned behind him. ‘Let’s get out of here, Nik. Now.’

But Nikolas wasn’t going anywhere, because next moment, Hannah shouldered past Mikkel and Ulrich and stood before him, attempting to block his exit even though he was a head and chest taller than her. She glanced briefly at Regina still cowering on the floor behind Nikolas, then said, ‘when will you learn, Nik, that when a girl says no, it’s time to back the hell off?’

Nikolas exploded into guffaws of laughter, turning from Hannah to Regina and back again.

‘What is this? Are the sluts teaming up now?’

Hannah was visibly shaking, but she was a mighty fury despite her pint-sized form. Everyone was looking to Hannah now. She’d never allowed herself to be so exposed, so vulnerable, so on-display before. The tension was palpable.

‘Nikolas. Listen to me. Leave Regina alone, leave me alone, in fact, leave _every_ girl in Winden alone. Because if you don’t, I’ll go straight to the police and tell them just how much of a creep you really are. Oh, and I’ll tell everyone you’ve got one of these.’ She wriggled her pinkie for all to see. ‘Let’s see how often you get laid then.’

Ulrich hid a bemused snort behind a cough, and even Katharina looked mildly impressed at Hannah’s outburst. Nikolas scanned the lot of them, waiting for backup that was not forthcoming.

‘You’re both nuts,’ he muttered, looking one last time to Regina and Hannah before spitting on the ground and striding away. No one spoke until he’d thrown a leg over his bike and sped away in a cloud of smoke and the spitting roar of its engine.

Hannah turned back to Regina, who was still glued to the floor, Charlotte kneeling beside her and throwing a comforting arm across her shoulders. Regina looked up at Hannah. ‘Thanks, Hannah. I... don’t know what to say.’

‘I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do that,’ Hannah said quietly. ‘I should’ve done it a long time ago.’ She paused, then said, ‘that was impressive, though. What you did. He deserved it.’

Regina smiled shyly, glowing the faintest pink, and Hannah offered her a hand. Regina hesitated, inspecting it like it might be some sort of trap, that perhaps Hannah would let her go half way off the ground and leave her to fall to the floor once more. Then she took it gingerly, and with Hannah and Charlotte’s help, she rose from the ground and stood once more. Hannah dropped her hand as soon as it was safe to do so, and nodded imperceptibly at Regina before turning and walking back to a baffled and astonished Katharina and Ulrich.

‘Shall we go now?’ Hannah asked, not stopping to see if they were following as she exited the grounds. Katharina and Ulrich exchanged exasperated glances but after a moment or two began to head in the direction in which Hannah had just left. Ulrich paused after a few steps, turning back to face Mikkel and his friends and looking as if he were about to say something, until Katharina called for him to join her. He turned away, throwing Mikkel one last curious glance before striding across the grounds to meet Katharina and Hannah at the steps, leaving Mikkel, Regina and the others silently stunned.

*

The group spent the rest of the afternoon at the lake, watching Winden’s student population frolic in the waters or else unwind at its borders, reading or chatting or laughing, others listening to music or else climbing trees beneath the sun. Despite the picturesque scenes before them, however, an intangible sense of disquiet hung in the balmy air between Mikkel and his friends following what had occurred up at the school.

Regina was clearly shaken but admirably strong, determined not to let what had unravelled up at the school ruin this special day. Max, always so keen to playfully tease and provoke Regina on any other day, was furious, and spent the ride down to the lake shouting angry threats and slurs to passers-by in his anger. Charlotte did her best to comfort her friend. Mikkel reverted to silence, lost in his own head. He was undeniably livid, but he also felt an overwhelming sense of pride for both Hannah and a Regina. Both were growing more confident by the day, and for once, they had been united by not only their interest in Mikkel, but in their mutual hatred of Nikolas. In some way, they shared a bond now, whether they liked it or not.

And so, silence fell amongst them as they idled beside the lake, processing the afternoon’s events. It wasn’t until sometime later, when Regina brought up her plans for her eighteenth birthday, that the group’s feeling of unease softened, and normal summertime camaraderie resumed.

*

_July 30th 1989_

Midsummer had firmly gripped Winden under its balmy spell by late July, each day fluctuating between sweltering, sultry heat that had its residents combing for refuge from the oppressive heat under the shade of the trees or else basking in the lake’s waters in order to cool off: and then climates so humid that torrents of rain and thunder would erupt in protest and shower the town in a deluge of bracing rainfall. And so the cycle would repeat. It was a particularly hot summer, as though the heavens were making up for lost time: it was mid-April before the wintry weather had truly dissipated.

Mikkel was finally getting around to properly reading the book Aleksander had gifted him for his birthday, while Hannah lay beside him under the shade of a parched tree, waiting for the photos she’d just taken to develop.

‘It’s too hot,’ Hannah groaned when Mikkel finished his chapter, marking his page by folding the corner, and placing the book beside him. Hannah sat up and put her hair into a ponytail. ‘I feel like I can’t breathe, even in the shade.’

‘Maybe go for a swim?’ Mikkel suggested offhandedly, as Hannah snatched up his book to use as a makeshift fan. She glared at him reproachfully. ‘Or don’t.’

‘I can’t go for a swim in my clothes’ Hannah said tartly, easing her glower to peer out across the lake.

 _You can’t sleep in them, either, apparently,_ Mikkel thought without warning. He looked away.

‘Why don’t we go to the library? It’ll be cool in there, at least.’

Hannah signalled her opinion of that particular idea with a derisive snort.

‘Well, we can’t go to my place: Ines is home from work today.’

Hannah had nothing to say to that, so Mikkel went on cautiously, ‘Couldn’t… couldn’t we just go to your place? ’

Hannah stopped wafting the makeshift fan and turned to face him. ‘Have you lost your damn mind?’

Mikkel knew he was treading dangerous waters here: pushing Hannah’s buttons wasn’t particularly wise. ‘What’s so crazy about spending a few hours at your place?’

‘We’ve never been to my place before. What makes you think a bit of sun is going to change that?’

‘Well, if it’s just a bit of sun, then stop complaining and sit it out,’ Mikkel suggested boldly, throwing caution to the wind. Hannah took the bait: her eyes flashed and her expression grew irritable.

‘You know, Michael,’ she said lightly, leaning closer. ‘I think you’re starting to get a bit too cocky these days.’

Mikkel raised his eyebrows, mirroring her by moving closer, until their faces were just inches apart. ‘Or maybe, you’re just starting to lose your game.’

It was a dangerous game they were playing these days, dancing around that blurry line between friendship and flirting. There was a part of him that grew frustrated with it, longing to know exactly where he stood with Hannah. But another part, a much more dominant one at that, enjoyed the feeling of the unknown, the enigma of it all, the ironic easiness and comfort that came with this new stage they’d reached in their relationship. The once in which lingering touches and sly glances weren’t refused or questioned, where the occasional flirtatious banter had become the norm. Even if neither of them were completely sure what it meant or what would come of it.

‘The only things I’m losing are my shoes,’ Hannah quipped, leaning back and pulling off her sneakers. ‘I’m going to dip my toes.’

Hannah stood and padded into the lake until her feet and ankles were swallowed by the shallow edge of the sparking waters. Mikkel snatched up his book and flipped it open again, returning to his marked page, but try as he might to get lost in the novel once more, his eyes kept wandering to wear Hannah stood, treading lightly though the lake and peering at her feet as they cut through the waters.

Since Hannah’s outburst outside the school two weeks ago, she’d subtly changed: it was like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Her confidence was growing. Her friends hadn’t disowned her after she’d erupted at Nikolas: in fact, Hannah had confessed to Mikkel that Ulrich had told her that Nikolas had needed to be put into his place for some time, but no one had ever had ‘the balls’ to do it, and Katharina had admitted that she’d found the whole event rather satisfying: it seemed Nikolas had tried it on even with the girlfriend of his best friend, unbeknownst to Ulrich, of course.

And, more importantly, Nikolas had been keeping his distance: it seemed the threat of having word spread about your less than impressive manhood had quite the effect. Mikkel hadn’t dared to ask Hannah how she would be savvy to such a fact, but she’d openly confessed during their first meeting following the exchange that she had no idea how Nikolas measured up ‘down there’, but that ‘a lie can run around the world twice before the truth has got its boots on.’

Regardless, Hannah was changing: for the better, in Mikkel’s opinion. Admittedly, she wasn’t brimming with confidence, but then, nor was he, not by any stretch. But he was seeing in Hannah would he’d seen in Regina: a blossoming sense of self-worth and assurance, however small.

And with that came other perks, besides the obvious, one of which Mikkel observed as he watched Hannah tread through the lake before an idyllic backdrop of endless blue skies and forest landscape. Gone were the layers of clothing, the lengthy skirts and shorts that had no place in this oppressive weather. Today she was sporting a floaty dress that hung just above the knees, mustard yellow with a patterned floral design and sleeves that cut off just below the shoulders. Her exposed skin was beginning to tan, blending with the freckles that dotted her legs and dusted her arms. She was still petite for her age, and Mikkel suspected she always would be small in stature, even as a woman. But she wasn’t a young girl anymore, either: she was growing up right along with him, changing not just on the inside but on the outside too. There was a curve to her waist, her hips and her legs that hadn’t been there when they’d first met, he was sure of it. And the allure of it was so overwhelming it felt indecent both to observe and to not observe it at the same time.

He put his book back down and went to join her, sitting down so that just his feet grazed the water. Hannah sat beside him several minutes later, looking lost in thought as she looked out at the lush forest landscape beyond. An easy silence settled between them for a short while, the pair of them just savouring a summer’s day in all its simple joy and beauty.

‘It’s Regina’s birthday in a couple of days,’ Mikkel said eventually, watching a bird sweep solitary across the sky.

‘And?’

He shrugged. ‘She told me to ask you… to ask you to come along, if you want.’

Hannah looked up at that. ‘She did?’

Mikkel nodded, knowing already what her answer would be, and trying to quell his disappointment.

After a few moments, Hannah muttered, ‘you know I can’t.’

The disappointment came regardless. ‘I said I’d ask, that’s all. It’s here at the lake at twelve o’clock if you change your mind.’

*

When late afternoon arrived, Mikkel checked his watch as his stomach groaned in demand of a good meal. 

‘Let’s go, then,’ Hannah said, standing up.

‘Go where?’ Mikkel asked, rising to join her.

‘Well, I don’t know where you’re going, but I’m going home. I’m tired and you’re hungry.’

Mikkel couldn’t argue with that. But just as he was turning to head back to collect his book and his backpack, Hannah stuck out a foot and reached for his shoulders, sending him flying backwards into the lake.

‘Whoops, my foot slipped,’ Hannah said with false concern, tucking a stand of hair behind her ear as she regarded him sitting up in the lake and shaking the water from his sopping hair. ‘But maybe think before you tell me I’m losing my game again.’

Mikkel made to stand, grabbed at Hannah’s ankle, and pulled her into the water with him. ‘Whoops,’ he said through snorts of laughter, ‘my hand slipped. I guess we’re both pretty clumsy today. Must be this heat or something.’

They were still in the relative safety of the shallow end of the lake, but after the brief water fight that ensued, both were soaked through. ‘Michael Kahnwald!’ Hannah snapped, crawling from the water and squeezing out the droplets from her drenched hair. ‘I should stop speaking to you after that. But you already know I won’t.’

*

_August 1 st 1989_

The morning of Regina’s eighteenth birthday arrived bright and balmy, a little cooler than recent weeks, and perfect weather for the planned day ahead: a barbeque beside the lake, filled with music, games and general merriment. Mikkel already had his schedule prepared: attend Regina’s birthday, explore the caves once again before sundown, and home before night fell under the pretence that he’d spent the evening at Max’s if and when Ines inevitably asked questions. He was making progress with the map itself: it was now riddled with noted observations. But he was no closer to finding the tunnel than he had been months ago.

Arriving at the lake, it was to the biggest congregation Mikkel had been a part of since he’d travelled: Regina, Charlotte and Max were there, of course. As were Aleksander, Peter Doppler, and Max’s girlfriend, Sofia Vogel. Even Clara was in attendance, with her new boyfriend Benjamin, the boy in her class that had caught her eye long before Mikkel ever did.

His heart fell when he realised he was the only person there without a partner. It fell even further when he realised Hannah was nowhere to be seen, as if he’d expected anything else.

He spent much of the first half hour conversing with Peter, who he’d only met on a few occasions previously, as dedicated to his father’s care as he was.

‘He rarely leaves his cabin,’ Peter was telling him with a sober expression. ‘But he’s coming around, slowly, with a bit of encouragement from me. It makes me feel like I’m doing something, you know? Like I’m helping.’

Mikkel watched as Peter took a sip of his drink, the shadows under his eyes prominent. Peter, he now knew, was Peter Doppler: the therapist husband of his father’s co-worker and fellow police officer, Charlotte Doppler, who he could see over Peter’s shoulder was having an animated discussion with Clara and Ben. Both Peter and Charlotte had found each other without Mikkel’s influence: would they stay together, get married and have Elisabeth Doppler, the girl who nursed a soft spot for him long before Clara ever did?

Charlotte was already on a path that would suggest that the circumstances of the future were already a growing reality: she would be on her way to becoming a cop in September. If Mikkel tried to put a stop to that, would it change things? Or would fate find a way to make it happen regardless?

And Regina... Regina... what had she become?... She was the manager of the old hotel. And Regina had already expressed interest in running a business...

And then there was Aleksander... the plant manager, a well-paying job, no doubt. It was no surprise that Bartosz had been so spoiled. And a young Aleksander was already climbing the ranks at the plant.

But what of Max and Clara? Sofia and Ben? It was more likely that he had passed them in the street as adults without even knowing it. Maybe they were the mothers or fathers of one of his classmates. Or maybe he’d met them and simply couldn’t remember, since it would’ve seemed so completely irrelevant and unimportant at the time.

And Hannah? Who would she become? Had they ever met in the future? There were moments, fleeting and impossible to grasp, where he had felt the flicker of recognition, a spark of a memory that was snuffed out before it could truly ignite.

But it seemed to Mikkel that, at least so far, he hadn’t changed the future much at all.

‘Have... have you ever thought about becoming a therapist?’ he said quietly.

Peter nodded, a wide grin creeping across his face. ‘You know, I have, actually. It’s just... I’m not sure I’d be any good at it in a professional capacity. I filed it away as a bad idea.’

Mikkel clapped him on the shoulder. ‘I think you might just surprise yourself.’

*

After a few rounds of frisbee fun in the sun, the boombox Max had brought playing an array of pop songs that Mikkel might once have coined ‘old people music’ and what had now become commonplace in his daily life, Aleksander brought out the portable grill, slapping on fresh burger patties he’d fetched from the butcher’s while the others had buttered bread rolls and spread out various picnic blankets and paper plates. A birthday wasn’t complete without a round of _‘Alles Gute zum Geburtsta_ _g’_ of course, and Aleksander brought out eighteen rich chocolate cupcakes on a wooden tray, two for each of them and each topped with a brightly burning candle.

Mikkel was just pleased to celebrate a birthday that wasn’t his own. Fresh paper plates were brought out to serve the birthday treats, and an easy sense of contentment settled on the young Winden residents as they lounged beside the lake, stomachs full of burgers and corn on the cob but somehow still with room for more.

As Aleksander handed out the last plate of cupcakes to Benjamin, however, someone behind Mikkel said, ‘where’s mine?’

Aleksander dropped the plate he was passing to Ben, who grabbed the cupcakes before they hit the floor, lest they go to waste. He licked the icing from his fingers.

Mikkel turned to see Hannah, arms crossed, framed by the golden flecks of sunlight cresting the trees far beyond. Her hair hung loose, framing her face, which right now was looking expectantly at the untouched cupcakes on Mikkel’s own plate.

‘You came,’ Mikkel said, unable to hide the grin that tugged at his lips.

‘I thought I told you to stay away?’ Aleksander warned sharply.

‘Aleksander, calm down,’ Regina soothed, pressing a hand to his shoulder. ‘I asked her to come. Or more accurately, I asked _Michael_ to ask her.’

‘You seem tense, Alex,’ Hannah said lightly, sitting down beside Mikkel and stealing a cupcake from his plate without consent. Aleksander cringed at her use of his nickname. ‘Is there something you want to get off your chest?’

Aleksander raised his brows in exasperation, searching Regina for an explanation. ‘Why would you invite _her_ , Regina? She’s... she’s one of _them_.’

No one had to ask what he’d meant by ‘one of them’. It was common knowledge amongst the group that Aleksander despised most of the kids up at the school, Hannah’s gang most of all. He’d already had altercations with Ulrich and Katharina, and his most recent encounter with Hannah had been less than warm following the events of Mikkel’s last birthday.

‘You know what she did for me at school before summer,’ Regina said under her breath. ‘This is _my_ day, Alex. Just... calm down.’

‘Always such a pessimist, Alex,’ Hannah muttered, admiring the cupcake in her hand before demolishing half of it in one bite.

‘Oh, and happy birthday, Regina,’ she went on through a mouth full of icing and chocolate sponge.

Aleksander appeared to be in physical pain from holding back his outrage . He looked to Regina one more time, shook his head and retreated to the cooler bag to recover a can of beer before sitting back down.

Max gave a low whistle and said, ‘well, this isn’t awkward at all.’

After a few beers and when everyone had finished off their cupcakes, however, the shock of the new arrival to the party had begun to wear off and the mood lightened. Everyone besides a moody Aleksander was perfectly cordial to Hannah, who remained by Mikkel’s side for the next hour. And while Regina didn’t make conversation with Hannah, she offered her a warm smile whenever the two made eye contact, and offered her a beer when she made the rounds with the cooler bag.

‘No thanks,’ Hannah said when Regina extended a can toward her. ‘I... I don’t really drink.’

‘That’s no problem,’ Regina said politely. ‘Do you want some orange juice? Or maybe some water?’

‘I... uh, well, some orange juice would be nice, I guess. Thanks.’

Regina nodded and handed Hannah’s refused can to Mikkel. ‘Just the one, though,’ she added. ‘You’re too young for alcohol, really. I don’t want to be the one responsible for getting you drunk. If you want more ask Alex. Then it’s on him.’

Regina came back with Hannah’s orange juice before sitting back down with Aleksander. Mikkel couldn’t help but notice that all the couples were paired off and idling together by the lake: Aleksander and Regina, Peter and Charlotte, Max and Sofia and Ben and Clara, leaving he and Hannah as the fifth and final couple that weren’t really a couple at all. Mikkel privately hoped Hannah hadn’t picked up on the awkwardness of this particular arrangement, though he already knew that was wishful thinking: Hannah picked up most things.

Mikkel didn’t really know much about the Döhring siblings’ partners, except for the fact that they seemed very well suited: Sofia was a little older than Max, of German and Italian descent, all dark hair and dark eyes. On the surface she seemed a little too ‘normal’ for someone like Max, but whenever Max cracked a joke she’d snort like a pig when she laughed, and Max’s eyes lit up every time. It wasn’t long before the two swapped laughter and jokes for a rather intense make-out session instead, and everyone tried their best not to notice.

Ben was a boy in Clara’s class, remarkably blonde and as tan as the grains of scorched sand that bordered the lake’s edge. He reminded Mikkel of the surfer-type, perhaps not the brightest but pleasant enough. He could see why Clara was attracted to him: he was a good-looking boy. But then, Clara was a good-looking girl: she’d matured a little over recent months, and the perils of puberty had seemingly been kind to her. Perhaps that was why Ben had suddenly returned her affections, Mikkel couldn’t be sure. But having a boyfriend meant Clara no longer blushed pink as a rose in his presence, and no longer did she send what she presumably thought were sly glances Mikkel’s way: nor did she pay him much attention at all that afternoon, besotted as she was with Ben. Mikkel didn’t know how he felt about that: as awkward as the crush Clara had harboured for him had been, it was always flattering to be the liked in such a way.

Mikkel was starting to feel a bit light-headed after a few gulps of his beer: he had very little experience with alcohol, apart from the sip of mulled wine or Advocaat Ines would allow him at Christmas. The beer tasted bitter on his tongue, and he wasn’t certain he liked it.

‘Why don’t you drink?’ Mikkel asked Hannah, watching her idly stir the straw of her orange juice. ‘Seems like every other kid in Winden does.’ Fleeting images of Magnus hiding booze stolen from his parent’s collection in his backpack before heading to meet Bartosz and Jonas came and went in his mind.

Hannah seemed to tense just slightly, resolute in studying the path her straw made through the juice rather than meeting Mikkel’s eyes. ‘I just... have my reasons.’ She sighed and stopped stirring. ‘But that’s a story for another day.’ She finally looked up and said, ‘check it out.’

Mikkel followed her eyeline and immediately regretted it: whether it was a heady blend of blue skies and beer or just flourishing teenage hormones in full-swing, Mikkel couldn’t be sure, but what he did know was that he and Hannah were now surrounded by cluster of kissing couples, oblivious to anyone else but each other.

‘Yeah, definitely not awkward at all,’ Mikkel snickered, trying to play the whole thing off as amusing. He hoped the colour in his cheeks could be passed off as a sudden bout of sunburn, and he rubbed at the nape of his neck in an effort to extinguish the rising heat. He was acutely aware that they were encircled by four amorous couples, and to any outsider he and Hannah would naturally be the fifth. Except with any of the kissing, or actually being a couple at all.

‘I think I’m going for a swim,’ he declared moments later, voice catching. ‘You coming?’

Hannah caught him by surprise when she said, ‘absolutely.’

Mikkel stood and peeled off his shirt, suddenly feeling intensely self-conscious of his own body and silently praying Hannah wasn’t paying him any notice as she quietly undressed herself. Besides Ben, he was the youngest male of the group, and it was difficult to not draw comparisons to your peers when you felt so exposed. He was fourteen and still growing, after all, and while he was by no means a skinny boy, he knew he had a lot of filling out to do yet. At any other time he wouldn’t be so bothered by it, but then, at any other time, Hannah hadn’t been there to witness it.

He had the decency to give Hannah some privacy as she stripped off to her swimsuit, instead heading straight to the lake and plunging into the cool waters. The sharp change in temperature dulled the heat in his neck and the chill thawed at his insecurities, providing a welcome distraction as he dipped beneath the surface and then surged to the top to savour the fresh air, and by the time he’d committed to two more rounds of this, the water felt pleasant and warm against his skin.

When he resurfaced for the third time, it was to find Hannah apprehensively wading into the water. He endeavoured to appear uninterested, but the sight of Hannah in her swimsuit was causing his heart to beat like a bird in a cage against his chest, and something low in his stomach to perform somersaults. It was a simple periwinkle one-piece, understated and unadorned, but there was no hiding the shapes and curves of her body beneath the thin material, the things that made girls so very different from boys.

‘It’s freezing,’ Hannah groaned, plunging into the water when it was deep enough and swimming to join him.

‘You’ll warm up,’ Mikkel said, suddenly wishing the water was crisp once more so as to cool newly-rising heat that consumed him. ‘You just need a minute or two to acclimatise.’

Not knowing what to do with himself, Mikkel took another dip beneath the water, holding his breath as long as his body would permit. When he broke the surface, Hannah asked with a smirk, ‘so, can you see the lady in the lake down there or what?’

‘The woman who drowned here?’ Mikkel said, rubbing water from his eyes.

‘Who else?’ Hannah quipped lightly, hair spilling across the surface around her like liquid shadow.

‘It’s just a story.'

Hannah rolled her eyes. ‘Well, duh. But every story has to have some basis in fact, right?’ 

Mikkel didn’t know what to say to that, so instead asked, ‘what’s with the sudden change of heart today? First you come to Regina’s birthday, and now you’re swimming in the lake. You never do that. Did you hit your head or something? Should I be checking for any bumps?’

Hannah sent a splash of water his way, which Mikkel playfully sent back, but when they’d tired of their teasing, Hannah said quietly, ‘maybe I’m tired of just dipping my toes all the time. Maybe I want to swim for a change.’

Mikkel understood the double meaning behind those words: she was trying to push herself out of her comfort zone. Mikkel just hoped it wouldn’t backfired, because it was remarkable progress for Hannah. 

‘And I didn’t take as big of a risk as you think, coming here today,’ ‘she added. ‘Katharina is hiding out with Ulrich at his place, for one, so I know they’re not around.’

‘Hiding out?’

‘It’s... complicated. You know I told you about Katharina and her mother before? She’s... scary. And crazy. And she takes it all out on Katharina. Katharina wants to go to college in September. She wanted to wait until Ulrich was finished with school, so they could leave Winden together. Except, Katharina’s mother isn’t a normal mother, and she wasn’t thrilled at the idea of her daughter going to college. She said she’d make a fool of herself, that she wasn’t clever enough, and that she’d come crawling back home soon enough. That she’d never amount to anything.’

Mikkel was suddenly plagued with an old, hazy memory of his mother’s answer to the whereabouts of his grandmother many years ago. ‘She’s not around anymore,’ she’d said vaguely. ‘And be glad for it, too.’ He’d never understood what she’d truly meant by that, but the creeping nausea he felt bubbling in his stomach suggested that perhaps now he did.

‘That’s... horrible.’

Hannah nodded, and continued. ‘Well, it turned into a huge argument the other day, and her mother hit her. No, she _beat_ her. Badly. Told her that she was the biggest regret of her life. So Katharina packed up her stuff, and she’s staying at Ulrich’s for a while. Just the two of them cooped up in Ulrich’s bedroom... must be cosy.’ Hannah stared off into a knot of trees in the distance, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. Mikkel was still consumed by dark revelations of his own grandmother, so silence settled on the two as Mikkel took to floating on his back, Hannah joining him a short while later.

‘I still took a risk, I guess, coming here,’ she went on, looking to the lush sky that blanketed them from above. ‘It’s not as if she couldn’t find out from someone else who might be snooping. I’m just hoping that if word gets back to either Katharina or Ulrich, they’ll be so preoccupied with their own problems in life that they won’t put much thought into mine.’

Mikkel risked a glance at Hannah from the corner of his eye. She looked remarkably serious. ‘Well... I’m glad you’re here, you know. I like seeing you take risks. You should do it more often.’

Hannah grinned at the sky, then faltered. ‘Maybe. Maybe not. But I’m tired of everyone else taking risks for me. You and Regina both got to Nikolas before I could. But when I finally just let everything go that day, when I finally confronted Nikolas for what he is, it felt... amazing. Freeing. Like I wanted to do it again and again and again. It helped, knowing I wouldn’t see him around school anymore, of course, but still. I couldn’t stop smiling when I got home. My papa asked what was wrong with me.’

Mikkel shifted so he was no longer floating, watching her closely. ‘I like seeing you smile, too.’

The sun was hanging much lower in the sky by this time: early evening would soon be approaching, and Mikkel instinctively checked his wrist for the time until he remembered he’d taken it off before jumping into the lake. But he knew it would be time to leave soon, and time to start heading toward the caves.

Hannah followed suit and stopped floating, shifting to face him in the water and peering at him evasively.

‘Michael, can I tell you something?’

She was moving closer: Mikkel felt her foot lightly touch his ankle beneath the surface of the lake. And suddenly those raging hormones took over _him_ , too, and he found that all he wanted to do was kiss her right there in the water

‘ATTACK!’

Max stampeded into the lake, closely followed by the rest of the herd, all screaming elatedly and leaving a torrent of splashing waves in their wake. Mikkel and Hannah broke apart as a storm of water droplets drenched them, and before long the whole lot of them were lost in laughter and wild water fights, until Mikkel couldn’t remember why he’d wanted to visit the caves at all.

*

_September 1 st 1989_

On the Friday before school started up again, Mikkel found himself in Max’s living room, keeping an eye on Max’s five year old twin sisters, Nina and Daniela. Max’s father, as he was so often, was up at the station working, and his mother had taken a rare trip out without the twins.

‘She’s got them a babysitter,’ Max revealed when Mikkel asked where his mother was. ‘So she can go to the book club up at the library on Friday afternoons. Also known as the local gossip club, where bored housewives meet to discuss all the juicy going’s-on in Winden. You know, is Mrs Next Door secretly screwing Mr Number 33? Did Mrs Winkler really serve her husband vegetarian schnitzel for supper, and if so what the hell was she thinking? You know, that sort of crap.’ Max paused to watch Nina hit Daniela across the head with a banana clip. It was just the two of them and the twins, who were currently playing ‘hairdressers’ on the living room floor with hair brushes and accessories that Max had stolen from Clara’s bedroom to keep them entertained. The boys were flopped on the couch, watching cartoons and waiting for said babysitter to arrive. ‘Good look to them, anyway, that’s what I say. Old Ernestine will throw them out the second someone breathes. Or who knows, maybe she’ll join in. I’ll bet she loves a bit of gossip, really. Must get boring walking around and looking at dusty old books day after day.’

Max divulged a little more to Mikkel about his experiences up at the police station earlier in the year and his time shadowing his father: how even though he’d poked fun at Charlotte relentlessly over the summer for becoming a police officer, he’d secretly rather enjoyed the experience himself. ‘Not so much for the whole job thing: I’d be a useless cop. I think my papa knows that, too. But it’s brought us closer, just a bit. I rarely see him at home unless he’s barking orders or yelling at me for something or other. But he’s not so bad, really. When you get to know him. He grew up in a post-world war two, militant-type household. He told me all about it. His father, my grandfather, had PTSD from his war days. He used to beat my papa and his brother black and blue. My papa might be strict, but he’d never really lay a finger on us. I think he tries his best. It’s been nice, getting to know him. Every boy should be able to feel like they know their own father, you know?’

Max seemed to realise what he’d said the moment the words left his lips, and began to backtrack on his blunder with a series of unintelligible stammers before Mikkel told him not to worry, that Max was right, every boy deserved to know their papa. And he had, once. But he wasn’t sure he did anymore.

The pair fell back to watching the twins, Max checking his watch every other minute.

‘The babysitter should be here in a few minutes. I offered to look after them myself, you know, but apparently ‘my studies’ are more important.’ He used his fingers as speech marks to quote ‘my studies’, as though he disagreed with his parents on their level of importance. ‘We start preparing for exams this year. I guess you’ll know the drill soon enough. And Clara had a hissy fit and said she wants to spend Friday afternoons with Ben, and papa can’t say no to her, so she got out of babysitting duty too. So we just need to hang around till the babysitter gets here, and then we can get on with ‘studying’.’ More quotation marks. And boy, do I have something we can study, alright.’

Mikkel raised an eyebrow. ‘You do?’

‘Yup. And believe me when I tell you it’s not math.’ A wicked grin spread over Max’s face, and he flicked his eyes to the staircase and back again furtively. ‘I have to show you something. The twins can survive a minute or two without us. Come on.’

So Mikkel allowed Max to steer him from the room and lead him up the stairs, where he opened the door furthest down the hall. Mikkel had never been in here, but he could surmise who’s bedroom it was from his previous experiences at the Döhring household.

‘Um, Max,’ Mikkel said as he followed Max through the door. ‘What exactly are we doing in your parents’ bedroom?’

Max headed toward the left-side drawer beside the bed and gestured for Mikkel to join him.

‘I found his stash while I was looking for my pack of cards he confiscated from me last week. Totally uncalled for, by the way: I convinced Clara that school started a week early, so on Monday she got up early and woke our father up to drive her to school on his way up to work. Except it was his day off that week. He was furious. Clara was even more furious. They joined forces when they realised I was responsible for the whole thing, though. I don’t know which one of the two was more terrifying.’

Mikkel wasn’t too certain on what Max had meant by ‘stash’. His first thought had been weed or drugs, if only from his vague memories of Magnus. And then, it was, in an abstract sort of way, a stash of weed and drugs that had lead him into this situation in the first place. Had it not been for that _particular_ stash, he wouldn’t have been at the caves that night, and nor would any of his siblings, or Jonas, or Bartosz.

Max crouched and slid open the very bottom drawer, a pile of newspapers inside.

‘What am I supposed to be looking at?’ Mikkel asked exasperatedly.

‘The greatest magic of all,’ Max said, grabbing the pile of newspapers and putting them down beside the drawer.

A pile of magazines were revealed, unlike any Mikkel had ever seen before. They were nothing like the comics he had at home. Max picked up the topmost copy and leafed through the pages, eyes ablaze in wonder and delight. Then he handed it to Mikkel.

‘Incredible, right?’ Max whispered, as though his father might be out in the hall and eavesdropping on their antics. ‘They don’t make them like that in Winden. Except maybe Sofia.’

A blonde with short blonde hair posed and pouted before a blue backdrop on the cover, bereft of clothing and revealing a hint of her breast beneath her arm. Mikkel had never seen anything like it before.

The pages were littered with a similar vein of iconography: attractive women in various stages of undress, some poses more proactive than others. Some pictures had writing beside them, but Mikkel seriously doubted anyone purchased such a magazine for reading purposes. Looking at the pages stirred at something in his lower abdomen that was not an entirely unfamiliar sensation.

‘You’ve seen Sofia... naked?’ Mikkel asked, dragging his eyes from a brunette wearing nothing but skimpy black lingerie to fix Max with a questioning glance.

‘Ha! Course I have!’ Max chortled lightly, all false bravado. Mikkel raised an eyebrow, not quite believing it: it would’ve taken death itself to stop Max from telling Mikkel all about it, had it been true.

Max relented with a sigh, knowing he’d been caught out. ‘Well, alright, no, I haven’t. Not yet, anyway. Have you?’

‘Seen Sofia naked? Definitely not.’

A roll of the eyes from Max. ‘You’re a real comedian, Michael. Have you ever seen a _girl_ naked? Like, _any_ girl?’

‘No,’ Mikkel said quietly, turning back to the pages. ‘But I guess I have now.’

Max smirked and then turned to scan the hall beyond the open door.

‘We need to keep an eye on the twins,’ he said, putting the newspapers back into the drawer, snapping it shut and standing up. ‘Let’s have a look at it in the living room.’

Nina and Daniela were watching the cartoons on the television when they got back: the hairbrushes and accessories lay abandoned beside them, and one of the twins had half her hair twisted in a lopsided bunch and fastened with a scrunchie, the other half hanging loose over a shoulder. The other had about twenty barrettes clipped to her head, along with a shocking fuchsia bow.

The two boys spent the next fifteen minutes or so pouring over the pages of this newfound wonder, only stopping when a loud knock sounded at the door.

‘ _Scheisse!_ ’ Max cried, scrambling off the couch and running from the room to answer the door. ‘It’s the babysitter! Hide it! _Hide it!_ ’

Mikkel thought for a moment, then stuffed the magazine in his open backpack, zipping it shut and tossing it behind the sofa.

‘ _You?_ ’ Mikkel heard Max say from the front door. ‘There’s got to be some kind of mistake. Why would my mama hire _you_ as a babysitter?’

‘There’s no mistake, douchebag. Now get out of my way.’

Mikkel knew that voice. He knew he concurred with Max before he even laid eyes on the her. But then she walked into the living room, Max in her shadow and looking utterly perplexed.

Mikkel sat frozen on the Döhring’s couch, eyes locked with the girl who in some other life had brought him into the world, in some other life had been his nurturer and provider and protector. In this life, however, she was a stranger at best, an jaded teenager and small-town bully at worst.

Katharina smirked and flopped beside him on the couch, using the remote to flip the TV from cartoons to a popular music channel, much to the twins’ dismay.

*

Mikkel and Max hasn’t wanted to leave the twins in the care of Katharina, who spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening watching MTV and allowing the twins to entertain themselves, feeding them chocolate and chips when they demanded food.

The boys pretended to leave through the front door without a word to Katharina, then slipped back upstairs to hide in Max’s bedroom so Max could overhear what was going on downstairs should the twins start crying or Katharina start getting angry. The rest of the afternoon passed without incident, however, and Katharina left when Max’s parent arrived, Clara in tow.

‘I wanted to stay at Ben’s house!’ Mikkel heard her crying from downstairs.

It was her father who responded: ‘You’re barely fourteen, Clara: you’re not spending the night with any boy under my watch.’

‘Well, that’s the thing: we don’t want you watching!’ Clara yelled and stomped up the stairs, slamming the door of her bedroom shut.

Max turned to Mikkel, dumbfounded.

‘I wonder why Katharina wanted to babysit a couple of kids?’

‘I have no idea,’ Mikkel said quietly, remembering the Katharina that loved children so much that she became the head of a school. ‘That’s not like her at all.’

*

Mikkel arrived to a silent and empty house later that night. Checking his watch, he realised it was eight in the evening. Ines should be home, but after catching sight of the flashing light on the landline phone, a voicemail revealed Ines was working overtime tonight, and would be back in an hour.

He helped himself to some leftover pasta for dinner, brushed his teeth and dressed for bed, readying himself for a night of studying in preparation for his return to school on Monday.

His plans took a turn, however, when he skipped into his bedroom and emptied out his backpack onto the bed.

The dirty magazine tumbled onto the duvet, the pretty blonde gazing at him from the glossy cover amongst the scattered contents of his bag: his book, his Rubik’s cube, his cassette player and headphones, his wallet containing the pocket money Ines had given him, a bottle of Coke and a few snacks. Something low in his stomach stirred once more, moving lower still.

He glanced at his watch: he had a solid thirty minutes before Ines would be home.

Closing his bedroom door and shutting the curtains of his window, he stuffed the contents of his backpack back into the bag until only the magazine remained. He grabbed a small flashlight from his drawer and tossed the bag to the floor before crawling into the bed and slipping underneath the sheets.

Scanning the pages by flashlight beneath the covers felt both thrilling and perverse at the same time. It was only now that he was alone that he could truly appreciate the contents of the pages, or recognise the way his heart heart flipped in his chest with each passing second. Was this what every girl was hiding beneath their layers of clothes and their flimsy swimsuits?

His mind wandered to that day in early August at the lake, when everyone had stripped off to plunge into the lake. He’d seen it all before, of course: the girls in their swimsuits. And he’d had his thoughts about that. But now it all somehow felt different, as if he’d stumbled upon a secret he was never meant to find out.

And then, unexpectedly, images of Hannah devoured his every thought, consuming him like a tidal wave and submerging him in memories of her throwing her head back with laughter in the lake, a picture he could paint over and over for a thousand years and never get bored. The way the sunlight caught her hair like strands of gold, and the way her whole face came to life whenever she smiled, an energy so wild and so captivating that it seemed as though every other girl in the world ceased to exist for just one moment whenever he was with her. And finally, when she’d walked out of the water, soaking and dripping wet, beads of water clinging to every inch of bare skin, bright and blinding under the light of the sun.

Hannah intruding on such a personal moment took him by surprise, even if it was only inside the privacy of his own mind. The revelation made his stomach flip, a disorienting sensation akin to missing a step when descending a staircase, then realising you can fly a split-second before you hit the floor.

He tried to shake the images out of his mind, to focus on the women he didn’t know and would never know, all vying for his attention as they posed and pouted across every page. They were all unnaturally beautiful, with perfectly styled hair and flawless skin without a blemish or imperfection in sight. But try as he might to lose himself in wild fantasies of the flawless models staring back at him, all Mikkel could think about were the freckles that dusted Hannah’s skin, and if those freckles might feature on the parts of her body he’d never seen before, that remained hidden and secret. And what it might be like to feel that skin beneath his fingers, the curve of her breasts, or the taut skin of her stomach, tracing lower and lower. And what it might be like to hear Hannah say she wanted to feel his hands on her, too. To hear her say she wanted him like he wanted her.

He switched off the flashlight and shut the magazine with a snap, shoving both to the floor beneath the covers. He was breathing heavily, and it was so hot beneath the bed covers: he stared at the cotton of the sheets, trying to steady his breaths as he thought about his next move, and whether his body would overrule his mind.

With a deep breath, he snaked a hand to the edge of his shirt where it rested at his lower stomach, then slid it further until his fingers twitched and hovered at the waistband of his pyjama pants. Not just his neck, but his whole body was searing. He paused, then shifted his hand a few inches north, resting once again on his stomach.

He couldn’t do it. Wouldn’t do it. Had never even done it before. Sure, he’d heard enough about it from Max whenever they weren’t around the girls, but his thoughts had always been elsewhere, too busy thinking about the _how’s_ and the _when’s_ and the _why’s_ of his situation to spend much time thinking about girls like _this_ , or what it would be like to do so. Least of all with _Hannah_ in mind.

No. It wouldn’t be right. She would be disgusted if she knew. She would hate him. She would probably never speak to him ever again.

But then, she didn’t know, and never had to know, either. This felt like a secret that would never need to be shared, a secret for him and him alone.

And so it was that body overruled mind. With bated breath and eyes firmly closed, he moved his hand back to his waistband, slid it beneath the straining fabric, and thanked a God he wasn’t sure he believed in for the sanctity of privacy, both in mind and behind closed doors. At first his touch was tentative, uneasy, until a natural rhythm and the power of imagination took over, until relief and rapture were rife and all-consuming.

*

_September 3 rd 1989_

He was supposed to meet up with Hannah on Sunday, but he spent the weekend in his bedroom instead, alone and miserable. It was like going back to those early days three years ago, when he’d had no friends and no desire to leave the house.

Hannah didn’t call to ask where he was: she never did, for risk that Ines might answer the phone and ask questions. He knew Hannah would ask questions of her own on Monday though, likely prickly as ever, but he’d already prepared for that: he’d tell her he was ill, had no way of letting her know. He was banned from calling her home too. And it wasn’t like the cell phones of 2019 existed in 1989. But for the first time, he was grateful for such a thing. He could mope around his bedroom, feeling guilty and avoiding Hannah for just one more day without having to face reality.

But that only meant seeing Hannah again on Monday would be all the more terrifying. Maybe it would be better if she got angry and decided to stop talking to him for good. Maybe he would purposely piss her off just to accomplish this. It was easy enough to do, after all. He’d done it before without even meaning to.

He tried to get stuck into his studying, into Aleksander’s book, into his painting, even dug out Max’s magic set he’d given him for his birthday: anything to keep him busy, distracted. But in the end, all he could think about was Hannah, and the porn magazine he’d stuffed in his desk drawer where her portrait had once lived, that magazine that was now burning a hole in his drawer and in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: this chapter will explore the topic of teenage masturbation. It’s not graphic but given the generally PG nature of this fic so far I thought I should put a warning jic. I will probably be changing this fic to mature readers rather than teens as it matures along with Mikkel. Just a heads up if this grosses you out anyway, as it will only get more awkward as the fic goes on ;)
> 
> Back to normal end notes: 
> 
> So I’m super excited for the next few chapters. I have a story arc planned and lots of things going on over the next 4-5 chapters or so. I’ve been waiting to get to this point really. And I know it’s been a hell of a slow burn but rest assured you’ll get what you deserve and then some very soon ;) 
> 
> Cheers all! See you in the comments and (hopefully) next week with a new chapter! :D


	17. A Man Lives Three Lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikkel must find a way to deal with his guilt, and his relationship with Ines is rocked by an awkward conversation. Later, Mikkel has an unexpected heart-to-heart with Katharina, and returns to the one place he least expected: the Nielsen house. Regina opens up the cafe to the public, but not before revealing some interesting news regarding the Doppler mansion. Finally, as the nineties arrive in Winden, Mikkel is forced to hit Hannah with some truths when she intrudes on his plans to escape, culminating in an explosive confrontation on the fourth anniversary of the night in which Mikkel’s world turned upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Hope you all had a lovely (if not a bit strange!) Christmas, New Year and holiday period, whatever you’re celebrating! :D Now we’re all here in 2021, let’s hope it turns out at least a little better than the last... 
> 
> It’s been a while, but here we are, finally, with another chapter of epic proportions (and I’m not just talking about the ridiculous word count). I hope this makes up for my (once again) lengthy absence. You’d think this whole lockdown business would mean I’m free as a bird to write to my heart’s content, yet somehow I’m always busy. 
> 
> Anyway, get your reading glasses out for this one, it’s a long one, and hold onto your wigs for the ending: they’re about to get snatched. 
> 
> Happy reading everyone! :)

Chapter Seventeen – A Man Lives Three Lives 

_September 4 th 1989 _

There was one thing Mikkel knew now: no matter how much you tried to hide from it, time was ever present. It existed infinitely, whether you liked it or not. Travelling back in time didn’t stop it from moving forward regardless. Mikkel had spent the last three years speculating over how to get back to the future: but for once in his life, he almost wished he could go _back_ in time instead. Not another thirty-three years, of course: three days would be just enough.

Unlucky for Mikkel, however, Monday came around, and so he washed and dressed silently, took two bites of his breakfast, and left for school.

There would be no Regina, no Charlotte waiting outside today. But Max, Clara and Ben were already loitering in front of the school, so Mikkel dropped off his bike and crossed the grounds to join them, Clara and Ben putting on quite a display of public affection.

‘Thank _Houdini_ you’re here,’ Max said as he approached, looking exasperated. ‘I thought I was going to have to spend the rest of the morning watching these two guess what the other had for breakfast.’

Clara pulled away from an eager Ben with some difficulty and frowned at Max. ‘Michael, please tell Max to go mind his own business. I didn’t _ask_ him to hang around with us.’

‘Wait… bacon?’ Ben mumbled thickly, grinning dopily at Clara.

Clara beamed as though he’d just asserted something charming and oh so witty into the conversation. ‘Ooh, so close! Toast and marmalade,’ she said sweetly, pulling him closer once more. ‘Let me kiss you again, I wanna guess what you had!’

Mikkel and Max exchanged raised eyebrows and revolted glances before Max muttered under his breath, ‘I think I can feel my own breakfast coming back up to say hello. Let’s ditch the lovebirds, shall we?’

‘Where’s Sofia?’ Mikkel asked as they walked away, throwing a furtive glance behind him at Ben and Clara, joined at the lips once more, and absently marvelling how it must be to declare your feelings for someone so openly. He couldn’t help but wonder how Clara had gotten over him so damn quickly, either.

‘Her parents took her to Italy to spend some time with her family over there,’ Max explained from somewhere ahead of him. ‘Doesn’t get back till Wednesday.’

After a brief discussion about what they’d got up to over the weekend (‘Oh, you know… just studying,’ Mikkel had lied), Max paused, looking towards the other side of the school grounds.

‘Hannah’s on her own over there.,’ he observed with a shallow nod in her direction.

Mikkel followed Max’s eyeline, and sure enough, Hannah was lurking alone and looking distinctly out of place without Katharina, Ulrich or any of the usual cronies beside her. She stole a glance in his direction, silently pleading for him to join her: an unusual move for Hannah, who usually limited their interactions to brief exchanges in their school corridors at best.

‘You’re not going to go and keep her company?’ Max asked slyly when Mikkel turned away, feeling the blood rising in his cheeks.

‘Uh, maybe later,’ Mikkel muttered quietly, avoiding catching his eye. ‘Let’s just go inside. Class will be starting in a minute, anyway.’

*

Mikkel successfully avoided Hannah until the end of the school day. He had no idea how long he was planning on keeping this up: forever, if he had to. But he didn’t like the idea of that, either.

When he had bid goodbye to Max, who was heading in the opposite direction at the intersection on his bike, he let loose a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding: he was almost home. He’d made it the whole day without encountering Hannah even once.

So he felt pretty damn foolish when Hannah cut him off on her own bike a mere thirty seconds later.

‘Hannah!’ he snapped indignantly, nearly falling off his bike in an effort to avoid colliding with her. ‘What the hell are you doing here?!’

‘I followed you,’ Hannah said calmly, still straddling her bike and raising a brow. ‘Obviously.’

Mikkel recovered and opted for a mocking reply to mask the heat rising in his cheeks. ‘You know, _some_ people might call that kind of behaviour somewhat _stalker_ -like.’

‘Why wouldn’t you talk to me today?’ Hannah countered, not taking the bait. ‘You won’t even look at me _now_!’ When Mikkel remained silent, focusing instead on a dead leaf circling the road in the breeze beyond Hannah’s shoulder, she said, ‘you’re ignoring me. Why?’

Mikkel watched without really seeing as the leaf skimmed the road and disappeared into the bordering grass. The handlebars of his bike grew slick and warm beneath his fingers.

‘Have I… have I don’t something wrong?’ Hannah asked quietly, looking hurt.

It was this question that stirred Mikkel into action. Forcing himself to meet her eyes, he said, ‘what? No! Of course… of course you haven’t. Why would you think that?’

Hannah shifted on her bike, shaking the hair from her eyes as it twisted in the breeze. ‘Well, you didn’t come and meet me yesterday at the lake, for one. And now you’re avoiding me. Did something happen? Is something else wrong?’

‘What? I’m not avoiding you,’ Mikkel lied, avoiding her eyes again and thus disproving his argument entirely. ‘I just… I just had a headache on Sunday. Um, you know, like a really bad one.’ He forced himself to glance at her. The worst of it was over now, after all: he’d come face to face with Hannah, and it was _okay_. No devil was sitting on his shoulder, recounting his sins in hushed whispers. And Hannah hadn’t any idea what he’d done. True, she was hurt, if not a little angry (as was to be expected from Hannah), but only because he had been feeling too embarrassed and awkward to acknowledge her. The heat in his skin cooled, and he felt a little less anxious now. Emboldened by this fact, he went on, deflecting the heat from himself and pushing buttons he knew he shouldn’t without any real idea _why_ he was doing it.

‘And how was I supposed to know you wanted me to hang out with you? You never want to hang out with me at school. Why would that change now?’ A pause, and then… ‘Because Ulrich isn’t there to follow around anymore?’

Hannah recoiled, seemingly stung, but it was a blink and you’ll miss it kind of moment, because a split-second later, her expression grew impassive. ‘I think I preferred it when you had nothing to say,’ she said tonelessly. ‘At least _then_ you weren’t lying to me. And at least _then_ you weren’t mean.’

It was Mikkel’s turn to be stung. He felt guilty as soon as the accusation left his lips. And he knew, really, why he’d said it: he’d always been a _little_ jealous of Hannah and Ulrich’s relationship. Jealous of the way Hannah could always be found at his side when Katharina had left the school, how she laughed at his jokes like the schoolgirl she still was. Wished, at times, that it could be _him_ strutting around the school with Hannah at his side, laughing at _his_ jokes and sending _him_ admiring looks when she thought he wasn’t looking. Perhaps Ulrich didn’t notice these gestures, but Mikkel did. But then, a son being jealous of his own father over the same girl. It was ludicrous, nonsensical. And yet…

‘I’m sorry, Hannah,’ he said softly, shaking his head. ‘I didn’t meant that. I just… I just have a lot on my mind at the minute. You know… personal stuff.’

Hannah eyed him suspiciously, as though evaluating his apology, then said quietly, ‘I spent all day on my own today. No one at school likes me now that Katharina and Ulrich have left. Even the freaks wouldn’t let me sit at their table.’ She glanced at the ground, clearly ashamed. ‘You must have seen it.’

He had. And he hadn’t been able to finish off his own lunch after the fact, feeling as guilty as he had. ‘I saw you leave the lunch hall… where did you go?’

She shrugged. ‘I ate lunch in a bathroom stall, like a loser. I heard some of the girls talking about me. Let’s just say it wasn’t the kind of conversation I’d like to repeat right now.’ She slouched on her bike, watching the russet leaves stir in the trees, one occasionally falling to the floor or drifting off in the breeze. ‘I guess this is what it’s like to be a loser,’ she sighed. ‘I guess… I guess this is what it’s like to be Regina Tiedemann.’

‘Not quite,’ Mikkel interjected, watching Hannah watch the leaves. ‘I mean, no one’s calling you _Four-Eyes_ when you walk down a corridor, at least.’

‘Not yet, anyway,’ Hannah remarked miserably, finally returning to meet his gaze. ‘I don’t think they’d dare go that far. Katharina might not be a student anymore, but she’s still around. It’s not worth the risk of anything getting back to her.’ She shrugged again as if that settled the matter.

Mikkel stirred at the mention of Katharina. ‘Is she really still so bad? Hasn’t she… hasn’t she mellowed a bit, since high school? It’s been a year now.’

Hannah considered the question, then said, ‘Katharina is Katharina. She’s… complicated.’

‘I guess that’s why you two are friends,’ he remarked teasingly, trying to lighten the mood by sending a sly smirk in Hannah’s direction.

‘Maybe,’ Hannah muttered, the ghost of a grin tugging at her lips.

‘I’m really sorry, Hannah,’ Mikkel conceded with genuine remorse. ‘About today. And Sunday. You know… you know you can hang around with Max and I at school whenever you want.’

Hannah considered this offer, then quipped, ‘should I be starting a list, too?’ She was grinning now too, blatantly referring to the list Mikkel had joked about keeping in order to tally every time that Hannah had forced herself to apologise to him for one reason or another.

Mikkel beamed. It felt good to have Hannah back in his life, even if her absence on this occasion had been brief and self-inflicted. ‘Let’s hang out now, then?’ he suggested cheerfully, bracing himself to ride. ‘Race you to the lake?’

‘You’re on,’ Hannah said, fingers tightening on her handlebars. ‘But we both already know I’ll win.’

*

_September 9 th 1989_

With he and Hannah now back on good terms, Mikkel could return his focus to the new school year, and his continuing plans to explore the caves, with trusty map and searchlight in hand.

Despite his offer, however, Hannah had taken to spending her school-day breaks alone, and while she was no longer doing anything quite so dramatic as having her lunch in a bathroom stall, she instead ate outside, alone and at one of the picnic tables in the grounds. It seemed to Mikkel that she had dropped down quite a few steps on the social ladder since the last of her friends had left their school days behind. He wondered how much longer she would cope with this newfound unpopularity before she cracked. But he didn’t press her on the issue, not even on Thursday afternoon when they met at the lake again for an hour. He knew better than that by now.

The first weekend of the new school year, Mikkel, Max and Charlotte had plans to visit the abandoned inn which was to become Regina’s café to see how things were getting along. The interior was bare besides a few worn tables yet to be removed, and the wooden floor was already covered in white sheets in preparation for a paint job on the walls, which at present still looked filthy and tinged yellow with age. Dust mites lingered in the air, reflected in the dull afternoon sun that pressed at the filthy windows. The air smelled stale. An old wooden staircase led to an upper floor.

‘Smells like old Ernestine in here,’ Max remarked casually, tracing a finger through a layer of dust that had settled on top of the old bar counter. Mikkel and Charlotte disguised their snorts of laughter beneath coughs as they watched Regina flitter about the room, positively beaming.

‘I’ve just got around to organising renovations,’ she explained breathlessly, ignoring Max as she went to examine the windows. She wiped at a patch of dust and grime with the edge of her sleeve, so that a fresh rope of sunlight streamed through the glass pane and threaded the room in a warm glow.

‘I plan to have it open by the new year,’ Regina went on, turning to face them. ‘A new year, a new decade, a new start for me. And for Aleksander: he got a pay rise recently, and he’s going for a promotion at the end of the year.’

‘That’s great news, Regina,’Charlotte said, sitting on a chair at one of the tables. It creaked beneath her small weight, the sound swallowed by the room.

‘I wonder what the nineties will be like, anyway?’ Max observed, joining Charlotte on an adjacent seat. ‘Do you think we’ll have talking robots by the end of the decade? You know, one’s that can do your math homework and tidy your bedroom for you, that sort of thing? That’d be cool, wouldn’t it?’

‘Max, you’ll have left school by 1992,’ Regina reminded him impatiently. ‘You won’t _need_ a robot to do you math homework by then. Unless you’ve changed your mind about going to college, that is?’

Max scowled. ‘Way to rain on my parade, Regina.’ He pretended to pour himself a drink at the table, and when everyone raised a questioning eyebrow, he frowned and said, ‘can’t I even enjoy a pretend-beer in peace?’

‘You’re too young for pretend-beer,’ Regina said sharply, but sat beside him anyway as Mikkel took the remaining seat next to Charlotte. Max poured each of them a pretend-beer.

‘So, the place used to be a public house, of course,’ Regina went on, taking a pretend-sip. ‘So there’s a bar, and a stock room in the back, too.’

‘What’s upstairs?’ Mikkel asked curiously, taking a sip of his own pretend-beer.

‘A few bedrooms and a small kitchen,’ Regina revealed. ‘I think the old owner used it as a sort of guest house back in the twenties. I’d like to convert the largest bedroom into a living room, if I can. And the second largest will be Aleksander and I’s bedroom: I’d like it to become a bit of a home away from home, you see. There’s a couple of other rooms, I’m not sure what to do with them yet. I imagine I’ll make one my office, and the other can remain a spare bedroom, I suppose.’

‘You might as well live here with all that space,’ Max marvelled, putting down his pretend-glass and wiping at his mouth. ‘Sorry, foam moustache,’ he said, completely unabashed by the absurdity of it all.

Regina nodded her agreement. ‘Well, yes, that’s what I said to Aleksander. And to be quite honest, I’d be more than happy to sell the house and move in here, instead. But he didn’t much like that idea.’ She paused, taking another pretend-sip with a sigh. ‘Sometimes I hate living there. At the house, I mean. It’s full of memories. Every corner reminds me of… of my mama. I haven’t even been in her bedroom since she left. It’s probably as grimy as this place by now. But Aleksander wants to make the house his own renovation project one day. He keeps telling me that by the time he’s finished with it, I won’t recognise it for what it is now. I just sincerely hope he’s right.’

Several wordless minutes crept by, all of them seemingly lost in their own thoughts. ‘So, what have we missed?’ Charlotte asked a while later, breaking the silence. ‘Any drama up at the school yet?’

Mikkel shook his head. ‘Not yet. But give it time.’

‘How’s Hannah getting on?’ Regina asked him warily. ‘Since Ulrich left.’

The question surprised him. He glanced at Max and the pair shrugged. ‘Okay, I guess. She spends most of the day on her own, though.’

‘Erm, About Ulrich,’ Charlotte interjected nervously. ‘He’s, er… well, he’s joining the police department. He started training with me this week.’

The others all turned to her in unison. _‘What?!’_

‘It’s true,’ Charlotte went on with a nod. ‘He told me he’s been set on it since… well, since everything with Mads. He thought… he thought the cops handled his case badly. Especially…’. She paused, glancing furtively at Regina.

‘Especially my grandfather,’ Regina finished quietly. Charlotte gave a shallow nod in confirmation.

‘Anyone fancy a other drink?’ Max said with a false brightness, attempting to diffuse the sudden tension. He poured everyone another pretend-glass, and each of them took another obliging sip, all except a Regina, who slid a finger across the dust on the surface of the table and stared at the spot with a sober expression.

‘My grandfather wanted to find Mads more than anyone else in that entire police department,’ she said eventually, in barely more than a whisper. ‘He knew Mads was my friend. I told him everything I could when I gave him my statement that day. But Ulrich will never forgive him, even in death. And he’ll never forgive me, either, for being the last person to see his brother alive. To Ulrich, my grandfather and I will always be the reason Mads disappeared. And we’ll always be the reason he’s never been seen again.’

*

_October 13 th 1989 _

When October arrived, so did the promise of winter. Once more a patchwork of bronze foliage, Winden began to yield yet again to steel skies and bitter winds, with heavy downpours a gloomy and constant threat.

On this particular Friday afternoon, Mikkel and Max were once again starting the weekend at the Döhring residence. While Max had spent the occasional afternoon or weekend at Mikkel’s place, the two preferred to while away the hours at Max’s, simply because it was closer to the school and the centre of town, and Max had a wider array of gadgets and gizmos to keep them entertained. And when that failed to amuse, well, there was always the twins around to provoke (or, more accurately, for Max to provoke, while Mikkel watched on in amusement).

‘Katharina is a regular here now,’ Max informed Mikkel when his mother had left for her book club, pouring each of them a glass of orange juice in the kitchen. ‘Babysits while mama is at the gossip club – er, I mean, _book_ club. This week they’re reading _Pride and Prejudice,_ supposedly, but I don’t think it’s Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Darcy’s romance they’ll be analysing this afternoon: Mama thinks she saw old Mr. Hubert’s _much_ younger wife flirting with her dentist in the waiting room on Tuesday.’

‘She doesn’t bother you?’ Mikkel asked as he took his glass from Max. ‘Katharina, I mean.’

‘Not if I don’t bother her, which I have no plans on doing anytime soon,’ Max assured him, taking a sip. ‘It’s funny. You think you get rid of them, and yet somehow they still follow you around like a bad smell anyway.’

When Mikkel raised a questioning brow, he went on. ‘Katharina and Ulrich, I mean. Katharina is a regular babysitter for the twins now. She’s here every Friday for almost three hours. It’s weird, but the twins seem to like her. And what’s even weirder is… _she_ seems to like _them_.’

He peered over Mikkel’s shoulder into he living room, where Nina and Daniela could be seen waiting at the window for Katharina to arrive. ‘And then there’s Ulrich, training at the police department with Charlotte, and my papa. He mentioned how promising he was. Ulrich. Apparently he think he’ll make a great officer one day.’

‘What about Charlotte?’

Max shrugged. ‘He hasn’t really spoken about her. He doesn’t think women have much of a place in the force. He thinks being a cop is a _man’s_ job.’

When they had settled in the living room to oversee the twins and wait on Katharina’s arrival, Mikkel suggested they head out for a bike ride when she took over the babysitting duties.

‘It’s about to rain pretty bad,’ Max observed, glancing at the window at the darkening skies and the fat grey clouds that swirled overhead. ‘Besides, the twins may like her, but I still don’t trust Katharina with them. I’m not leaving them alone with her. There’s rumours about her mother, you know. That she’s mental. Ironic, because apparently she works at the psychiatric ward. That’s why Katharina is staying at Ulrich’s place at the moment. And if she’s anything like her own mother… well, she could snap at any minute. Someone’s got to be here in case she does. No, I’m sorry, Michael, but leaving isn’t an option.’

Mikkel considered what Max had just inadvertently revealed: Katharina’s mother, his grandmother, worked at the psychiatric ward? Wasn’t that… wasn’t that where his… his supposed _father_ was? He stored the revelation at the back of his mind to pore over later.

Right now, however, he wanted to explain to Max that Katharina would never hurt the twins: his mother had never really lashed out at him, nor Magnus or Martha. But would this version of Katharina be quite so motherly? He couldn’t be sure, so he let Max lead him upstairs when she arrived without argument.

*

An hour later, Mikkel’s head was still filled with thoughts of his mother and the teenage girl downstairs. Unable to focus on anything else, he had a sudden bout of bravery, and with it, an idea.

‘What are you doing?’ Max asked when Mikkel picked up his empty glass and headed for the door.

‘Getting another glass of orange juice,’ Mikkel said simply, pausing. ‘You want one too?’

‘No, thanks. You must be really thirsty to run the risk of bothering Katharina with your existence for a bit of juice, though.’

‘I guess I am,’ Mikkel answered with a shrug, and left the room to take the stairs into the living room.

He paused at the threshold and poked his head around the corner. The glass felt slick in his fingers.

Katharina was fast asleep on the couch, Nina and Daniela snoozing in her arms on either side. Such a peaceful sight made something in Mikkel’s stomach twist and his heart yearn. Fading memories flittered his mind, blurred at the edges, of him, his siblings and his mother in a similar position on the couch, how warm and safe he had felt as sleep had taken him while in his mother’s arms, the sound of raindrops splattering the windows and the din of the voices on the television in the background. Cartoons were currently playing on the TV to a snoozing audience. Mikkel wanted to drop his glass and join them. To relive a single and solitary fragment of his old life.

He considered turning around and heading back up the stairs, leaving them to sleep soundly, not having the heart to wake them. But another side of him wanted to take a closer look, so he slipped silently into the room, padding cautiously across the room.

A roll of thunder roared beyond the walls, the brewing storm preparing its attack. Katharina opened an eye, caught sight of Mikkel, glass in hand and midway through the room.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked quietly so as to not wake the twins, though her tone was accusatory.

‘I’m getting another glass of juice,’ Mikkel mumbled, . ‘I didn’t want to wake you.’

She shifted under the twins’ weight, though they didn’t wake, and fixed him a sceptical glance.

‘Well, clearly you did a great job of that,’ she said scathingly. ‘Hurry up about it, then. You’ve brought a bad smell in with you,’ she added a few moments later, reminding Mikkel of what Max had said about both Katharina and Ulrich earlier.

Mikkel nodded, cast his eyes to the floor and continued into the kitchen. He put the glass down and leant against the counter, heart hammering silently in his chest. He wanted to break down. He wanted to curl up and cry right there on the floor, no matter how much of a baby that might make him. He was always the baby of the family. He was always his mother’s baby. She had always said as much. Even if he was growing up now without her. So close and yet so far.

His original plan had been to use the guise of grabbing another glass of juice as an excuse to pass her by, use the momentary contact to strike up some kind of conversation, maybe wish her a belated birthday for this past June… to see if she would ask questions, interrogate him on how he would know such a fact as her birthday. And some part of him had wanted to just tell her everything, the one person he knew should understand him the most but would probably understand him the least. She would assume he was mental, as she likely already did, but just to say those words again… _‘I’m Mikkel Nielsen, I’m your son,’_ … it would be so liberating. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep it to himself anymore. But she would never believe him. And yet… what if she did?

He wanted to speak to his mother again. No matter how much it hurt.

But always, _always_ , those doubts: what if she isn’t my mother anymore? What if she _never_ becomes my mother in this life?

But then… Regina, Charlotte, Peter, Aleksander.. they were all on their way to becoming their future counterparts a he remembered them. He hadn’t changed that. At least, not yet, anyway.

Should he?

And still, regardless of what the future might now hold, that didn’t stop Katharina from being his mother in some life or another.

And he missed her so much.

His body ached with longing for his old life, for home, like it hadn’t in so long. He almost felt as he had those first weeks and months, when he’d walked out of the caves into this new life, this past life which was now his present. He felt like a lost child, looking for a mother who no longer wanted him.

As the tears burned at the back of his eyes, threatening to spill like the rain threatened to spill from the clouds above, he turned shakily and placed his hands on the counter to steady himself, knocking the glass off the surface in the process. It crashed to the floor, the sound filling the room, his head, reverberating against his skull in his anxious state. He stared at the floor, where shattered fragments of broken glass lay still at his feet, glinting in the light reflected from the window.

A sound from the living room, someone shifting on the sofa, and a few seconds later, Katharina came charging into the kitchen, looking livid.

‘Are you clumsy as well as stupid?’ she hissed under her breath. ‘You idiot. You almost woke up the twins!’

She opened a cupboard door and pulled out a dustpan and brush before shoving him out of the way and crouching to sweep up the broken glass. ‘Get your stupid juice and go away before you cause any more trouble, douchebag,’ she spat as she set to work. ‘And try not to break another glass this time, will you?’

Mikkel watched her, still glued to the counter and feeling jittery. All his earlier bravery had shattered as quickly as the glass had.

Yet still he yearned to speak to his mother. Alone, without Ulrich, Hannah or any of Katharina’s other cronies at her side. This was by far the most vulnerable she had ever been around him.

‘They seem to really like you,’ he said quietly.

Katharina paused and looked up at him. ‘What did you say?’

Mikkel took a deep breath. ‘They really like you. The twins, I mean.’

Katharina looked torn between anger and confusion. ‘ _So?_ ’

‘So you must be good with kids, then,’ Mikkel went on, heart still pounding. ‘You don’t seem the type to have much time for them, though.’

‘And what would you know about it?’ she snapped exasperatedly, still trying to keep her voice low. ‘You don’t know anything about me.’

‘And you don’t know anything about me, either,’ Mikkel said softly, eyes no longer burning with the threat of tears but his body filled with the pain of longing nonetheless. ‘But you don’t like me much anyway.’

Katharina peered at him curiously, as though searching him for something. But then she said, ‘I don’t like anyone who sticks their nose in other people’s business. And you have a bad habit of doing just that, kid.’ She turned back to the glass on the floor and began sweeping up the fragments once more. Mikkel crouched down to help her.

‘Don’t help me,’ she muttered, trying to snap once more but with less conviction this time. ‘Just go away and leave me alone.’

Mikkel watched her carefully: she seemed to be holding back tears as much as he was. She appeared flustered and angry and… sad.

‘Why do you babysit the twins?’ he asked her gently. She ignored him and continued sweeping. When the moment became awkward and it seemed apparent she wasn’t willing to continue the conversation, Mikkel stood and walked toward the door, any fresh glass of orange juice long since forgotten.

But just as he approached the door, his fingers pressed against the handle, he paused when Katharina said quietly, ‘I babysit because I need the money. Not just for the Döhrings: I babysit for a bunch of families in Winden. Because I need the money to get out of here. Out of Winden.’

Mikkel turned. Katharina had given up on the rest of the sweeping, and placed the dustpan and brush at her side as she settled onto the floor, cross-legged with her head in her hands.

‘Why is that?’ Mikkel asked, walking back into the room and sitting opposite her.

She let the question linger between them for a moment before removing her head from her hands. Her eyes were wet and slightly red, but she didn’t seem to know or care anymore. ‘Because this place is like a cancer,’ she said miserably. ‘I can’t explain it, but it’s everywhere. And the longer you stay here, the deeper it pulls you in until you can’t escape it anymore. So my advice to you, kid? Get out as soon as you can.’

Mikkel wanted to reach out, place a hand on her shoulder, tell her he knew exactly what she meant. But he knew it would not be well received. This was a young Katharina more exposed than he had ever seen her before, but he knew she still had her defences raised. She was more like Hannah than he had ever realised before. ‘Will Ulrich leave with you?’ he asked.

Katharina seemed surprised at such a question. She laughed humourlessly before she spoke again, dodging the question entirely. ‘You remind him of his brother, you know. Mads. You even look like him, a little. And you hang around with that four-eyed freak, too, just like he did.’

Mikkel let the comment about Regina slide: he didn’t know what to say to that. He had grown tired of the comparisons between himself and his uncle, but knowing his father had made the same connection felt different. More personal, somehow.

‘There’s something about you he can’t put his finger on,’ Katharina continued, watching at him closely. Mikkel thought there might be something about him that Katharina couldn’t quite put her finger on, either, though she would never tell him so. He tried to imagine a teenaged Katharina and Ulrich having a conversation about _him_. Their own son they had yet to… create, who shouldn’t exist at all here, right now. Their own son who shouldn’t be standing in this kitchen in 1989 with a mother only five years older than him. He felt like a phantom, a ghost.

His heart shattered like the glass had at Katharina’s next words. ‘He can’t find it in his heart to hate you like I do.’

‘And why do you hate me?’ he asked, voice hoarse and shaky.

Katharina looked at him, then looked away. ‘Because you remind me of what I could’ve had if I had escaped like you did.’

This confused Mikkel. ‘I… I don’t understand…’

Katharina stood and paced the room, whether to shake off the nervous energy or to remove herself from her vulnerable position and gain the upper hand by talking down to a still-seated Mikkel, he wasn’t sure. ‘You think I don’t know how you wound up here?’ she said contemptuously. ‘Hannah told me as much. She said you ran away from a bad home. A bad past.’

Mikkel shook his head, a spark of anxiety rippling through him once more. ‘Hannah doesn’t know anything about me, or my past…’

‘You really think I’m that stupid? Please.’ Katharina paused at the window, watching the rain begin its descent, splattering to the ground in fat wet globules. After a few silent moments, she glanced at him over her shoulder and said, ‘I know about Hannah and you. I know you’re friends. I know you’ve been having secret little meetings at the lake for years.’

‘She… she told you?’ Mikkel couldn’t think of anything else to say. He was shocked. Did Hannah know this? Katharina answered this question when she spoke next, as though she could read his mind. She really _was_ more like Hannah then he had known. Both of them seemed to have a strange affinity to read minds. Or perhaps his thoughts were just plain upon his face, like words on a page.

‘Hannah knows that I know. I confronted her about it ages ago.’

‘And… and what did she say?’ Mikkel pressed. He was a mess of confusion, surprise and anger: Hannah had _known_ that Katharina knew, and she hadn’t told him. Had kept up the act, the secrecy, anyway.

‘That you met in the hospital not long after you arrived here. That you were lonely, so you followed her around all day whenever she was there while her papa was working. That you hobbled around with your cast and your crutches like a lost little puppy until she gave in and let you hang around with her. I mean, she was fourteen at the time, and you were, what, ten, eleven? Did you really think you stood a chance with her?’

And she had _lied_ too. Not only to Mikkel, but to Katharina, too.

‘That’s… that’s not what happened…’ he mumbled, heat rising in his cheeks and at his neck.

Katharina turned from the window to face him, framed by a stormy backdrop. ‘Isn’t it?’

Mikkel didn’t answer: what was the point of telling her the truth? That if anything, Hannah was more curious about _him_ than the other way around, at least when they had first met. It hardly mattered anymore. His mother had told him she _hated_ him.

‘I keep quiet because I care about Hannah,’ Katharina explained. ‘She’s probably my only real friend. Everyone else only followed me around the school because they were scared of me, or because they wanted popularity. But Hannah… she’s been around since we were little kids. She’s my best friend. She wouldn’t lie to me. About anything.’

This gave Mikkel pause. He knew Katharina and Hannah were friends, that Hannah did seem to genuinely like Katharina. But hearing the same from Katharina made it seem more real. They truly were friends.

And though his mind was occupied at that moment with echoing screams of ‘he can’t find it in his heart to hate you like I do,’ over and over like some macabre chorus, a whispering thought begged for his attention in some small crevice of his mind. Something about his mother and a friend she had once had in the future… there was something, _something_ there that he needed to piece together…

‘I… I still don’t understand what this has to do with why you hate me so much,’ he said quietly, voice trembling and betraying the pain that seared him at those words.

‘Don’t you get it, Michael?’ she hissed. Hearing her say his name… his _other_ name… now his only name… it sounded foreign to his ears. Like a lie. Katharina sighed, all the anger seeping from her like air from a balloon. ‘You got out. You escaped. You left your past behind you and got a chance to start all over again. I don’t know what your family was like before you left, but now you’re free. That Kahnwald woman would probably give the clothes off her back for you. Because she wanted you in her life. Because she loves you. And I’ll never know what that feels like, because… because I stayed. Because I stayed with a mother who wishes I were dead every day. And a mother who reminds me of it every day, too.’

She walked toward him, sat back down and pulled back her sleeve, revealing a patchwork of faded bruises and scars. Mikkel cringed inwardly. He felt sick.

‘So you see, you’re one of the lucky ones, kid. Because you did what I should’ve done years ago. And what I’m trying to do now. _You_ _got away_. You escaped your messed-up family. And now you have a mother who loves you, and friends that actually care about you, and don’t follow you around to climb the social ladder, because let’s be honest, you’re barely on the bottom step. But that doesn’t matter to them, they like you anyway. Even Ulrich has a soft spot for you. Hannah, too. My boyfriend _and_ my best friend. And I don’t understand _why_.’

Mikkel shook his head. ‘I… I don’t know what to say, Katharina. I’m… I’m so sorry for what happened to you.’ And it was true. He didn’t know what to say to what she had revealed to him, only knew that he felt unbearably sad for her.

But she was wrong: he hadn’t escaped from a messed-up family. He’d been dragged into one instead, by a boy in a yellow raincoat who he had thought was his friend.

‘You think I’m just a jaded ex school-bully who’s angry at the world and everyone in it?’ Katharina said, bringing him back into the moment. ‘Well you’re right. I am. But I have my reasons. And you make me feel like a failure for staying. For being afraid of my own damn mother. And that’s why I hate you.’

Katharina let her words hang between them for a beat, then turned back to the glass still littering the floor at their feet. She abandoned the brush and began picking up the large fragments with her fingers.

As Mikkel watched her, he felt only one overpowering emotion: pity. He felt pity for the girl before him, so angry and jaded and bitter at the world, yet so seemingly headstrong and popular and in-control to outsiders. She was the popular girl and the bully you did not cross to everyone else: but Mikkel knew, now, that she was as much a victim as her own. It was fight or flight: she chose to fight. But what she really wanted was to flee: to escape her own mother, her family. And he felt _sorry_ for her. She felt as trapped here as he did. It had always been his mother who had been there to comfort him: but now, he wanted to be the one to reach out and comfort his mother.

But she didn’t know who he was. Couldn’t know who he was. He was foolish to have thought he could reveal his true self to her, regardless of how little she would believe him.

Once again, Mikkel recalled Hannah once telling him that everyone in Winden had secrets. This was growing more evident by the day. There were so many secrets hidden within this small forest town that they whispered in the wind, filled every room, stifling, overpowering. Destroying everyone they touched. Like a cancer.

He couldn’t blame Katharina for wanting to leave Winden. But if the future were to be as he’d left it three years ago, she would never leave this place.

Would he?

‘You might hate me, Katharina,’ he said quietly as she picked at the glass. ‘But I don’t hate you.’

Katharina dropped the fragment of glass she was holding at his words, cutting her finger in the process. Drops of scarlet fell to the kitchen floor.

‘What the hell is going on down here?’ someone said behind them.

Katharina looked up as Mikkel turned to see an exasperated Max stood at the door, a sleepy-eyed Daniela and Nina at either side of him, rubbing at their eyes.

Katharina stood and ran her finger under the tap. ‘Nothing. This idiot dropped his glass and now I’m about to lose a finger.’

Mikkel wanted to apologise, but Katharina stopped him before a word left his lips.

‘Just go upstairs and leave me alone. Stay out of my sight and don’t bother me again. You’ve made enough of a mess already.’

*

_November 1 st 1989 _

Three weeks later and his conversation with Katharina inside the Döhring’s kitchen still plagued Mikkel deeply.

How strange it was to go from being loved and protected by a mother you thought would always be there to keep you safe, to being ripped away from her by time and space… only to find her again, except this time the roles were reversed, and now it was _you_ who wanted to love and protect your mother, to keep her safe. It was almost like an instinct: perhaps one, ironically enough, he had learned from his own mother. Perhaps one he could use to do just that, and forge once more a relationship with her. A very different relationship to the one they had once shared, built on friendship rather than family, but a relationship nonetheless.

And then, still stored and filed away at the back of his mind was Max’s comments about Katharina’s mother working at the psychiatric ward, where he strongly believed his supposed and ageing father was now living out the remainder of his days. After all, it was not only a teenaged mother he wanted to get to know once again: there was a now elderly father he longed to meet again, too. Except this version of his father would _know_ who he really was, he would have answers which he didn’t have time to give during their first encounter. It was as strong a lead as his search of the caves was, and as such it was a lead he intended to follow, somehow.

Furthermore, Mikkel had decided not to confront Hannah regarding her now blatant subterfuge: he wasn’t sure why he had been surprised at such a revelation: deception was Hannah’s speciality, he had come to find. As it was increasingly becoming his own. You had to dig a little deeper to find the truth or meaning behind her words, her actions. And he and Hannah had had more disagreements than he could count on his fingers. There would be a time to call her out on it, perhaps, but it wasn’t now. For now, he would allow Hannah to keep her secrets, while he kept his own: a secret within a secret, he supposed.

And so, he went on: school, home, caves. School, home, caves. On repeat. Living in some moments: surviving in others. Taking refuge in his friends, in Ines, in Hannah. Writing his thoughts down in the diary Regina had gifted him last November and in which he had been returning to all year. Finding solace in those quiet moments with his evening cocoa before sleep took him, alone in his dark bedroom with only his dulling thoughts and the shadow of the stirring tree beyond his bedroom window for company.

Today was a Wednesday, and his fourteenth ‘birthday’ was a mere five days away: his fifteenth would be only four months later. Any normal boy his age would be thrilled to have two birthdays a year, except his true birthday was no longer a cause for celebration: there were no extra birthday presents, no birthday wishes, no cause for celebration. Always an utterly private and personal affair: a reminder that he was another year older, that he was growing up, becoming a man without his mother, her father, his family, in a time that had once feel foreign, alien, wrong. A time in which he did not belong.

He no longer knew where he belonged. It was no longer quite so simple. Not quite so black and white.

If you were born in a different town, a different city, a different country, to the one you in which you had spent the majority of your life in, the one in which you had forged new relationships and memories and experiences: which place did you call home? Was it really that you had to choose only one, or could it be that _both_ felt like home, just in very different ways?

As it was the half-term, and as such school was no longer in session for the week, Mikkel had whiled away the hours with his friends at Regina’s café, which was now coming along very well indeed, and the promise of a January opening seemed likely.

The sky overhead was already darkening and overcast as he rode home that early evening, the moon obscured by a passing steel cloud, ripe for rainfall.

Ines was unpacking groceries when he slipped through the door and into the kitchen.

‘How’s the cafe coming along?’ she asked as Mikkel helped her put away the rest of the shopping. ‘Almost ready for opening?’

‘Almost,’ he replied, pocketing a Raider bar for later.

By the time the groceries were all stored appropriately, Mikkel began to make his way towards the staircase with plans to spend an hour painting before dinner.

‘Wait just a moment, Michael,’ Ines murmured behind him. ‘I’ve been meaning to have a chat with you about something.’

Mikkel paused and turned, feeling a little anxious: Ines usually reserved any questions for discussion over dinner, and they were generally of the inane sort: how was your day, or what are your plans for the weekend? Are you sleeping well? Still having nightmares?

‘Sit with me,’ Ines said, gesturing to the table. ‘I’ll make us a hot drink.’

A few tense minutes later, Ines placed a steaming mug of cocoa before him and took a seat opposite. Taking a sip of her drink, she offered Mikkel a weak smile over the rim of her mug and said, ‘How’s Max?’

‘Er, he’s… he’s fine,’ Mikkel muttered, wondering where this conversation was going: he felt a little uneasy, though he wasn’t sure why. ‘Same as always, I guess.’

‘What about the girls? Regina and Charlotte, I mean. And Clara?’

‘Um… yeah, all fine,’ he answered warily. ‘Regina’s working on the cafe. Charlotte’s enjoying her training at the police department. I don’t really see much of Clara these days, but she’s… yeah, she’s doing good.’

It was true: he saw Clara occasionally during school hours, but these days Clara was too busy with Ben and her ever-expanding friend group. Clara had managed to achieve the impossible in recent months, growing somewhat popular amongst her peers since the new school year began. Puberty had been kind to her, and she’d mellowed on the weirdness a little lately, and since gaining a boyfriend her confidence had taken a boost. Clara seemed to have developed a rather appealing energy, not only amongst the female students, but the males ones too: Mikkel had noticed a fair few boys eyeing her when she wasn’t looking. Max had too: and he wasn’t happy about it one bit.

‘All three are very pretty girls, don’t you think?’ Ines asked casually, taking another sip from her mug.

‘I… I’ve never thought about it,’ he lied.

Ines put down her mug and evaluated him subtly. ‘You have a lot of female friends, Michael. No girlfriend you want to tell me about yet?’

‘Um… I don’t… it’s not really something I… I mean…’ Mikkel stammered, growing warm. The hot cocoa no longer seemed quite so appealing.

Ines smiled. ‘Michael, it’s okay. I understand: plenty of time for all that. Besides. That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.’

Ines rose form her chair and collected something from a kitchen drawer. ‘What I actually wanted to talk to you about,’ she continued as she returned to her seat, ‘is this.’

She placed the item in question on the table before him, and Mikkel was quite sure his stomach had dropped to his knees.

It was the porn magazine he’d acquired from Max: or perhaps inadvertently ‘stolen’ might have been the better term for it. He hadn’t returned to it for a few weeks now, having given up on gaining anything from it. But those moments, and who and what he thought about instead during them… those were private, personal, and his alone, he had come to realise. He wouldn’t be persecuted for that which existed only in his mind, those private pleasures brought only upon his self by his own hand. And so the magazine had been left to idle at the back of his desk drawer, where he had been quite sure it would remain indefinitely, until some day in which he decided on what exactly to do with it.

So to see it now, a troubling obstruction between his side of the table and Ines’, had him feeling rather divided: on the one side, he was horrified and utterly humiliated; on the other, he was angry; Ines had been rummaging through his personal belongings when she had no right to.

‘Where did you get this?’ Ines asked him, not unkindly. Her voice was soft and her tone more curious than accusatory.

Mikkel’s eyes travelled slowly from the model splashed across the cover to an expectant Ines across the table, who still watched him inquisitively. Mikkel felt as if he’d forgotten how to speak entirely, and instead looked down at his mug of hot cocoa, watching the last tendrils of stream as they drifted from the surface and vanished into nothingness. He wished he could do that too.

‘Listen, you don’t need to explain yourself to me,’ Ines said quietly. ‘To be quite honest , I don’t really care how or why you had this. But I wondered if perhaps now might not be a good time to have a little talk.’

She picked up the magazine and went to place it on a kitchen counter out of sight. Taking a steadying breath, she sat once more and reached an arm across the table to take Mikkel’s hand in her own. He pulled his hand out of reach, still refusing to acknowledge her gaze.

Ines sighed, retreated. Seconds passed before she spoke again, her tone clearly aiming for airiness despite the awkwardness of the moment. ‘Well, I don’t know how it happened, Michael, but you’re almost fourteen now. You’re at that age when… well, you know. When you’re curious.’

She paused as though Mikkel might interject, then went on when he didn’t. ‘Maybe… maybe there’s no girls you’re interested in right now. And to be honest, I think I prefer it that way. I’ll know you’re all grown up the day you bring a girlfriend home. And I’m not sure I’m ready for you to grow up just yet.’

She took another sip, another steadying breath, before persisting. ‘But… there’s things you need to know, for… for when that time comes. Things to keep in mind, so that both of you are… safe.’

Mikkel knew where this lecture was headed now: he studied his mug as he willed for anything, _anything_ to take him away from the situation. He’d happily allow the ground to swallow him up, or that so-called elephant in the room that fed on secrets to come rampaging around the corner and knock him off his chair, maybe even let him give him another broken leg so he could spend a few days lying in a hospital bed again rather than sharing a house with the woman who had just initiated the most humiliating moment of his life.

But Ines was unrelenting, and after another pause, she battled on with her speech. ‘I was much, much older than you when I fell pregnant with Daniel, of course. But, you know, Daniel wasn’t planned. And although I was delighted, the father… well, he was not. Luckily, I was financially stable and prepared to become a mother, even if… if it wasn’t meant to be, in the end. Not at that time, at least. But the point is, if you’re not careful, sex can have… consequences. If you’re not careful, a woman can fall pregnant quite easily. Especially a young woman like those friends of yours.’

Stop stop _stop_. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take of this: what exactly did she think he was going to do? Go around impregnating every girl he knew? It was absurd! He’d barely kissed a girl, never mind anything else…

‘I know this is embarrassing for you, Michael: it’s not a conversation I was exactly looking forward to either. But I’m a nurse, and your wellbeing is my priority. And more importantly, I’m your mother: and your future means more to me than anything else, even my own.’ She tried to reach for his hand once more, but Mikkel didn’t offer it. She sounded slightly hurt when she went on. ‘I want the best for you, now and always. So whenever the time comes, I need you to keep what I’m telling you in mind: always be careful. When you fall for someone, things can happen in the heat of the moment. One day you’ll understand. And you need to think not only about yourself, but about the girl you’re… well, the girl that you’re being intimate with. I see enough teenage mothers at the hospital to know it happens far too often. You’re a smart boy, Michael, and you’ve got a good heart: I know I don’t need to tell you any of this again. Of course, I’m always here, if you want to talk about anything. And I know one day, be it in ten years, or twenty, you’ll be the greatest parent there is, and any child of yours will be lucky to have you as their father. And I’ll be the proudest grandmother in all of Widen. In all the world, even. I always thought that… that would never be in the cards for someone like me. But it’s funny, how things change, I suppose.’ She chuckled softly, aiming to lighten the tension of the moment, but Mikkel was still studying his mug, his thoughts wild and furious.

After a few tense moments, Ines spoke again. ‘You’re free to leave now, Michael. I’ll never bring this up again. Unless you want to, of course. I’m always here to… to talk, whenever you need it.’

Mikkel forced his eyes to meet Ines’ across the table. ‘I want to know why you went through my things,’ he said quietly, voice shaking. ‘That… that was private.’ He didn’t need to elaborate on what he meant by ‘that’. They both knew the item in question was still sitting on the kitchen counter.

Ines grimaced slightly, and had the decency to at least appear somewhat abashed. ‘I… shouldn’t have, I know,’ she said carefully. ‘But you know I come in to drop off your laundry and tidy once a week. And I… I didn’t expect to find anything more than homework and stationery in your drawer, Michael. I… I didn’t think anything of it at the time.’

Mikkel wasn’t soothed by her acknowledgement of wrongdoing or admission of guilt. Maybe a year or two ago, he would have been so easily placated: but anger still simmered in his blood and gnawed at his bones.

‘You have every right to be angry, Michael,’ Ines said sympathetically, reading his mind. If his mind was so easy to read, why couldn’t anyone look close enough to realise he was living a lie? Ines, however, went on valiantly. ‘And you have my word I won’t… intrude, on your personal items again. Although, you need to know, this was a conversation that was always on the cards, regardless of what was in your desk drawer. And that… the magazine, for example… it’s entirely normal for you to be curious. I’m not upset or angry with you about that. But I understand why you would be with me. And I’m sorry. Truly, I am.’

Just when Mikkel felt his emotions cool just a little, he had a sudden, horrible thought.

‘Did you read my diary too?’

Ines shook her head. ‘Genuinely, Michael, I didn’t,’ she asserted, appearing sincerely dismayed that she was the one responsible for the pain that must have been clear on his face in that moment. ‘Those are your private thoughts. And I think it’s great that you’re finding another way to express how you’re feeling beyond the painting.’

‘Did you… did you see anything else?’ Mikkel pressed. How long had she been poking around in his desk drawer, after all?

Ines appraised him cautiously, clearly considering her next words. ‘I know what you’re referring to, Michael,’ she said softly. ‘And… yes, I did.’

Mikkel gripped his mug if only for something to do with hands. He was brimming with a blend of unpleasant, nervous energy and rising nausea.

‘I never brought it up because… well, I was hoping _you_ would be the one to mention it first.’ A pause, and then… ‘She’s a peculiar choice of a muse in my opinion, I’ll admit. But perhaps I misjudged the girl. It wouldn’t be the first time. And if… if you ever want to invite Hannah over, I-’

‘She’s not my girlfriend,’ Mikkel rushed to clarify without thinking, immediately regretting it. It made it seem like he had something to hide, when he _didn’t_. But he couldn’t help recalling what Ines had said earlier about him bringing a girlfriend home.

The corners of Ines mouth rose in a faint smile. ‘I didn’t say she was. But you painted her twice. There’s a friendship there, at least, no?’ She sighed, sat back in her chair. ‘Listen, I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide Hannah from me because… because of what I might have said about her in the past. Like I said, perhaps I judged her too harshly. If you… if you want to invite her around for dinner one night, I’d be more than happy to welcome her into the home. I want you to feel like you can be open and honest around me, Michael.’

Mikkel felt the fight go out at him as quickly as it had come. He was still sore with the aftershock of humiliation and fury, but his desire to rage had quelled and bled out like a wound. ‘How can I, when you go through my things? My private stuff?’ he asked quietly: while his anger had dissipated, he wanted to be sure something like this never happened again.

‘You’re right to be concerned. But you have my word that, next time, I will never do anything more than drop off your laundry, I swear it. To our God himself. Or if… if you’d prefer, I can… I can put a lock on your bedroom door if you’d like. If only you’ll believe that I’m truly sorry.’

Mikkel was spent, his doubts finally assuaged. ‘I… no, that’s… that’s okay. I believe you.’

Ines beamed and reached across the table for a third time to place a hand over his own: this time, Mikkel let her. ‘I forget that you’re growing up. I love you, Michael. More than you know. You can trust me. Like I trust you.’ She watched him hopefully. ‘So… can we move past this?’

Mikkel nodded, studying the surface of the table, thinking of something else Ines had said. ‘How long… how long have you believed in… in God?’

Ines seemed surprised but not displeased at the question. ‘Well, I always have, really,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘My mother was a very religious woman. My father, well, he had his doubts at times, though I believe he did have faith in the end. And… I was wondering, actually… I’ve been meaning to ask you for some time, but I suppose there’s no time like the present, is there? You see, I was wondering, if… if perhaps you’d like to come to the church with me some time. You know I attend most Sundays, if I’m not working a shift at the hospital… and I think… I think it might help you to… to heal.’

Mikkel considered her words carefully: he was still unsure how he felt about God, in two minds about his existence or lack thereof. The words of his father whispered in one ear, the strange priest in the other, both fighting for his attention, to sway his beliefs firmly in one direction or the other. And then there was Ines, who had lost so much, yet found so much peace in her prayers and her visits to the church…

‘I’m… I’m not sure I believe in God. I… I don’t think it would help much.’

Ines squeezed his hand then shifted back into her chair. ‘Well, think about it then. That’s all I ask. You don’t need to make any commitments, certainly not to me. But know you’re always welcome at the church, even if you only attend once and never again. I think… I think it might surprise you.’

Mikkel nodded and, feeling more than ready to retire to his room and forget any of this ever happened, stood and made his way toward the stairs.

‘Wait a minute,’ Ines called from the kitchen. She met him at the stairs with the notorious magazine in hand. ‘I forgot to mention. I left some… protection… in your desk drawer, by the way. Just in case.’

Mikkel, quite sure the tips of his ears were as scarlet as his sweater, nodded once, aching and desperate for the quiet refuge of his bedroom.

‘Oh, and as for this,’ she added, handing Mikkel the magazine. ‘I think it’s best if it’s returned to where it came from, don’t you?’

Mikkel took it reluctantly, rolling it up and privately cursing Max for introducing it to him in the first place. He made it three steps before he paused.

‘Who was Daniel’s father?’

It was a question in which he hadn’t lent much thought a few years ago: but in recent months he’d grown curious. Hearing Ines mention Daniel tonight recalled his suspicions. It was evident that the residents of Winden all had their secrets: he couldn’t help but wonder if Ines might have one or two more of her own.

‘That… is irrelevant,’ she said delicately after some time; the question had clearly startled her. ‘It’s in the past, and he doesn’t live in Winden anymore.’

Mikkel nodded silently; he hadn’t really expected an answer. He made it another three steps before Ines had him pausing once more.

‘One more thing before you go,’ she called from the bottom of the staircase. Fearing the worst, Mikkel turned to face her, bracing himself for another awkward lecture or question.

‘What do you want for dinner tonight?’

*

_December 1989_

December arrived, bringing with it a bitter chill and the first snowfall of winter, purging Winden once more in blankets of pale ivory and dusting rooftops and cars in glistening, powdery silver.

The mood in the Kahnwald house had been a little tighter since their uncomfortable conversation last month: Ines had been as kindly as ever, even more so, and seemingly stayed true to her word. Mikkel had left the porn magazine in his desk drawer rather than return it to Max, just to see if Ines would comment on it: after all, she would only know it was still in the house if she peeked in his desk drawer again. But she did not, so Mikkel had begun to feel a little better, a little more at ease.

But beyond the infringement upon his privacy, there was still the matter of the preliminary subject of their discussion: the humiliating ‘birds and the bees’ talk. Mikkel wondered how such a conversation might have gone down coming from either of the parents he’d left behind, though he suspected it would have been no less uncomfortable. Though, perhaps, hearing it from his father might have been easier…

He understood why such a conversation (or, more aptly, such a ‘lecture’), had to happen. But when the most intimate moment you had shared with a girl was a chaste kiss that was over before he could appreciate what was happening, the idea of doing anything more, and discussing that idea with a parental figure… it had been excruciating. He knew very little about the subject of sex, and what he did know had come from the brief education he’d received about it at school, and that had been intolerable enough. Before that, his only knowledge of sex came from overhearing Magnus, Bartosz and Jonas talking about it, and in all honesty, he suspected now that they had known much less about the subject than they were letting on with each other at the time.

This year, his birthday had once more been a quiet affair, at Mikkel’s request: Ines has decorated anyway, and baked him a homemade chocolate cake, and had queried him on what he wanted as a gift (‘anything you want, Michael!’). But Mikkel wasn’t particularly interested in material possessions anymore. The gift he wanted was one only he could give himself: to find the crossing in the caves and return home. And as he continued to explore them, it was seeming more impossible by the day.

As Mikkel arrived at school that morning, he found Max and Clara deep in discussion: Clara had her arms folded and appeared mildly irritated, while Max was seemingly lecturing her about one thing or another. Hannah was nowhere to be found.

‘You can’t just start dating some other guy already,’ Max was warning Clara testily. Clara raised her eyes to the bone-white skies above them. ‘You broke up with Ben three days ago. Three days! You’ll get a reputation as a… as a-’

Clara unfolded her arms, cheeks crimson as she took a step closer towards Max. ‘As a what, Max?’ she pressed heatedly. ‘Come on, spit it out!’

‘What’s going on?’ Mikkel asked when he joined them in the grounds.

They ignored him entirely.

‘All I’m saying is,’ Max persisted, equally red in the face, ‘you’re not even fourteen yet. Slow down! I don’t want people thinking my little sister is a… is a… a _whore_.’

Clara flinched, retreating from her brother. ‘You’re not papa!’ she seethed. ‘I’m not going to listen to you, am I?’

‘Maybe not, but you don’t listen to him, either,’ Max said quietly.

‘What’s going on?’ Mikkel repeated.

The two of them finally acknowledged him, wearing matching scowls and red cheeks.

‘Nothing, just sibling stuff,’ Max explained without looking at him. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

 _Ouch._ Mikkel was an only-child now. But it hadn’t always been that way. He understood more than Max realised.

‘It’s not nothing, _actually_ ,’ Clara hissed in her defence. ‘Max thinks he gets to decide if and who I can date because he fell out the womb a few months before I did. Big deal.’

‘More than a few months, _actually_ ,’ Max interjected. ‘I’m two years older than you, Clara.’

‘I broke up with Ben because he kissed another girl behind my back and I found out from a girl in my year,’ Clara revealed triumphantly, folding her arms again, confident she had gained the upper-hand.

‘He did _what?!_ ’ Max screeched. ‘Oh, I’m going to kill the bastard.’

‘So excuse _me_ if I want to move on,’ Clara added.

Max shook his head exasperatedly. ‘Look, Clara, I get it. But that doesn’t change the fact that you should wait before-’

‘That Nielsen boy is throwing a Christmas party later this month, Michael,’ Clara went on, interrupting her brother mid-sentence and turning to Mikkel with a smile. ‘Apparently his parents and grandparents are out of town until January, and he refused to go with them. So him and his girlfriend have got the house to themselves, supposedly she’s still living with him, I don’t know why or what’s going on there… but anyway, that’s not the point. The point is, anyone’s invited so long as you bring your own booze, so to speak. And I’m going. Do you want to come with me, Michael?’

Mikkel was perplexed by the sudden turn of conversation and the bluntness of such a question. ‘Sorry?’

‘Do you want to come with me to the Nielsen boy’s party? As my date, I mean.’ She watched him expectantly: despite her newfound confidence, her brown eyes were round and her smile was cautious, uncertain, hopeful.

‘Oh _please_ , he doesn’t want to come to some stupid party with you, Clara,’ Max sighed, rolling his eyes. ‘Especially not as your date. What did I _just say_? Besides, I thought we’d all moved on from this pathetic crush of yours.’

‘Shut up, Max,’ Clara spat, still studying Mikkel. ‘Well, just think about, Michael, will you? See you around.’ And she left to join one of her friends who had just arrived at the school.

‘Ugh. When will she learn that you’re just never going to be interested in her?’ Max groaned, shaking his head and folding his arms just like his sister as the two boys watched her leave.

‘I don’t know,’ Mikkel answered absently, watching as a police car pulled up outside the school just beyond where Clara stood with her friend near the entrance to the grounds. His stomach rolled when Hannah climbed out the passenger-side, grinning from ear-to-ear as she closed the door behind her. He thought his stomach might have dropped to his knees again when she walked to the driver-side and the window rolled down, revealing the identity of the person who had given Hannah a lift to school that morning.

It was Ulrich.

He was grinning lazily as Hannah leaned on the window, saying something to him that Mikkel longed to hear but couldn’t from such a distance. He laughed, waved a hand goodbye, and then the window began to slide back up as Hannah retreated. The police car set off again down the road, and Hannah turned, positively beaming.

Her face fell when she caught sight of Mikkel watching her, when she realised he had observed the whole exchange. She looked away and made her way across the grounds alone, pulling open a door and disappearing into the school without once looking back.

‘I don’t know what’s up with her these days, honestly,’ Max was saying somewhere in the distance. Then Mikkel dragged his eyes from the door in which Hannah had just vanished, suddenly aware that Max was still stood right beside him and watching Clara with a critical expression. It seemed he hadn’t noticed Hannah arrive in what Mikkel could only presume was the car Ulrich had picked up from police training. 

He forced himself to return to the current moment before Max noticed anything was off, but his mind, his body, all of it, was still seething with a jealousy he had no right to feel. Hannah had every right to pick up lifts to school from whoever she wanted… but why did it have to be Ulrich? Did she really still want him, after everything he and Hannah had been through together, how close they had grown over the years? Was her friendship with himself really just a game, a distraction while she continued to pine for his own teenaged father?

‘She goes from the world’s biggest weirdo to Winden High School’s number one girl overnight just because she grew some boobs. Like anyone actually cares,’ Max added as Mikkel observed a male student check her out her chest with approval as he passed.

*

At the end of the school day, while Mikkel waited out in the grounds beside the school doors for Max to leave his final lesson, he was surprised to catch sight of Clara exiting the school alone, a rare spectacle these days. And he had a sudden, impulsive idea. A risky one at that. He was having a few of those these days, it seemed. But he wasn’t thinking of anything else besides what he hoped to achieve as he hastily took Clara by the arm and pulled her to the side of the doors.

‘Hey, um, Clara?’ he said apprehensively.

‘What’s up, Michael?’ she asked, evidently confused.

Mikkel hesitated for a moment: this was a bad idea.

It seemed his body hadn’t caught up with his brain, however, when he spoke next. ‘I’ll come to the party with you.’

Clara positively beamed.

*

_December 22 nd 1989_

‘Are you nuts?!’ Max had groaned when Mikkel had revealed his plans to attend the party with Clara later that day. ‘Why in Winden would you do that?’

‘You don’t get it,’ Mikkel had explained tightly, ‘I told Clara I’d go with her, but only as a friend, not a date. It’s not like that. I just… I don’t know… thought it might be fun.’

‘Well, that’s a big fat lie,’ Max had countered disbelievingly. ‘You hate parties. Just admit it: you fancy my sister, don’t you?’

‘Look, I have my reasons for this, but it’s got nothing to do with your sister,’ he’d told Max sternly, growing irritable and knowingly he was only partly telling his friend the truth.

‘These reasons being _what_ , exactly?’

‘None of your business.’

Max had assessed him at this, chewing at his lip. After a while, he said, ‘has this got something to do with a girl? I mean, a girl that’s _not_ my sister?’

‘Maybe,’ Mikkel admitted, without the energy to even try to deny it.

It didn’t take Max long to put two-and-two together. ‘The Kruger girl? Hannah?’

Mikkel couldn’t meet Max’s eyes, but he heard his snort of glee and understood that Max had come to the correct conclusion regardless. 

‘Well, well, well,’ he said smugly, ‘my boy Michael’s in love at last.’

‘Erm, love is a strong word,’ Mikkel objected, turning to face Max at last: he’d never seen him look so happy. ‘But maybe I like her. A bit.’

‘I think we kind of already knew you had more than a soft spot for Hannah,’ Max confirmed. ‘You know, Regina, Charlotte and me.’

Mikkel nodded silently: it seemed everyone knew about him and Hannah by now. The only people they were trying to fool with their secrecy and sneaking around these days were themselves.

‘Wait a minute,’ said Max, face falling at his sudden realisation. ‘Now I know you’re using my sister to get closer to another girl! That’s even _worse_!’

After bickering back and forth for forty-five minutes, Mikkel had mollified Max enough to get him on his side, and even enough to have him steal a pack of his father’s booze for him to bring to the party, as per the BYOB rule.

And so it was that on the evening of December twenty-second, Mikkel set off (under the guise of a night at Max’s to ensure Ines didn’t ask any questions), for somewhere he never thought he’d revisit again, certainly at least not before he’d made it back to the future: his old home.

He’d almost turned back around too many times to count. Why had he done this to himself? His ‘plan’ had been fuelled by petty jealousy: he’d been jealous that morning he’d seen Hannah step out of Ulrich’s cop car, convinced himself Hannah had been flirting as she’d leaned into the driver’s side window. But so what if she had? What was it to him? Hannah wasn’t his property: she could do what she wanted. And she certainly wasn’t his _girlfriend_. It had been stupid, agreeing to this. Max had been right: he hated parties. And he especially hated any party that would be held in his home. His _old_ home, from his old life. He must’ve been mad. Utterly mad.

But then… another part him was curious. Another part of him longed to explore his old home like he’d been unable to the last time he’d set foot beyond the front door, back when his grandmother had mistaken him for his uncle and beseeched him on the living room floor to reveal Mads’ whereabouts when she had realised he wasn’t her son.

He wanted to see his old room. He wanted to remember his old life. He wanted to bring old memories to the surface, memories that had long since begun to fade and blur.

Clara had yet to arrive by the time he made it to the Nielsen house at eight thirty that evening: Hannah, however, was already there, clutching a soda and deep in conversation with Katharina. Mikkel lingered in the driveway close to the open front door, from which music and voices and laughter carried outside, to where others smoked and drank and chatted beneath an onyx sky permeated with stars.

Hannah was absently scanning the driveway beyond Katharina’s shoulder when she locked eyes with Mikkel. In that split-second, her hazel eyes grew round with surprise, and she immediately became flustered while trying to return to giving Katharina her full attention.

When the opportunity for escape presented itself as a number of Katharina’s friends joined them in high spirits, Mikkel watched Hannah slip away. He wondered for a moment if she might disappear into the house to put some distance between them like she had that morning at school earlier that month. But instead she manoeuvred through the lingering crowd towards him, sporting a short denim skirt, black tights and a turtleneck green sweater dotted with festive holly and scarlet berries. Her long brown hair hung free and loose to her lower back, and she was wearing a confused and bewildered expression as she approached him.

‘Michael?’ she enquired sharply, glancing over her shoulder to ensure nobody was watching them. When she’d established that no one possessed any interest in their exchange, she turned back to him, her expression a rather turbulent blend of fury, confusion and amusement. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

‘He’s here with me,’ said a voice some five feet away, and when he and Hannah turned to the source of the intrusion, Mikkel found Clara approaching them. She had a bottle of some alcoholic beverage or another in one hand (he suspected this, too, had been stole from the Döhring parents’ collection, and he wondered how long it would be until one of them noticed their stock was mysteriously depleting), and she landed at Mikkel’s side smiling as brightly as the blinking stars above.

‘Clara?’ Hannah muttered, barely glancing at her before turning back to Mikkel. ‘You’re here with _her_?’

Mikkel could feel both girls’ eyes on his own, but he continued to look only at Hannah when he nodded imperceptibly: he was playing on a technicality, being that he was, _technically_ , here with Clara. Such terminology didn’t specify on what condition he was here with her: as friends or anything more. It was petty, and he knew it, yet a small, grudging part of him bloomed like a jasmine flower at the look of displeasure that flittered across Hannah’s features like a ghost.

‘I…’ she began, clearly casting around for something to say that wouldn’t betray her true feelings on the matter. ‘Well, congratulations, Michael. You _finally_ got yourself a girlfriend.’

Her words burned like a flame: he recoiled slightly at the calculated way in which she considered him as their eyes locked: he barely remembered that Clara was still stood at his side, witnessing the whole exchange. It was only when they were interrupted again that tensions subsided.

‘Hannah, come on,’ Katharina called on her way to the door. She was watching them: who knew for how long. Though Mikkel supposed it didn’t matter anymore. Mikkel hadn’t spoken to Katharina since the incident in the Döhring kitchen, but when Hannah left to join her side, giving Mikkel one last unreadable glance before she did so, Katharina sent him a shallow nod and entered the Nielsen house without another word.

Clara shuffled at his side, watching him closely, before she took his hand and Mikkel allowed her to steer him toward the door.

‘Let’s get inside, it’s freezing out here.’

*

The downstairs of the house much looked the same as it had the last time Mikkel had set foot across the threshold, except this time it was populated with at least fifty of Winden’s youth, not counting those still loitering outside. Mikkel felt claustrophobic as Clara led the way to the living room, snaking through the hallway and past the staircase, dragging him behind her every step of the way. The air smelled of tobacco and alcohol and heat and sweat from the tightly-packed bodies that filled the hall, the living room.

They dumped their alcoholic offerings in the kitchen and Clara busied herself with getting them drinks while Mikkel immediately began to scope his surroundings for the quietest corner of the living room. There was no Max, no Regina, no Charlotte to distract him, to keep him company. Certainly no Aleksander, who didn’t have time for teenage house parties, of course. Not even Sofia, Max’s girlfriend, who he was on familiar terms with at least. He did however spot Ben, Clara’s ex-boyfriend, talking to a girl with a beer in his hand. He firmly hoped Clara didn’t notice this. On the plus side: there was no Nicolas, either. Mikkel privately hoped that he had been barred from any Nielsen events after what had happened outside the school back in July, but suspected he might still be laying low and avoiding larger gatherings instead. Either way, Mikkel was satisfied to find him absent.

Clara reappeared a few minutes later, passing a drink to Mikkel with a grin. She was a little red in the face, and Mikkel wondered if despite her confident demeanour she might feel a little overwhelmed at the situation: Clara was surely the youngest person in the room, newly popular, still coming into her own. As she cautiously sipped her drink, he wondered if a part of her still wanted to let go and start dancing wildly about the room as she had done just over a year ago in his own living room on his thirteenth birthday. But then Mikkel blanched inwardly: wasn’t this technically his living room too? It had been once. Or would be.

Mikkel wasn’t one for drinking: aside from the odd festive beverage with Ines at Christmas, or the beer he had been offered at Regina’s birthday at the lake, it was as foreign to him as a language he’d yet to learn. He took a tentative sip: it was cola, but with a strange aftertaste. It tasted slightly bitter as it slipped down his throat.

He was surprised to see Hannah across the room, also drinking: something he’d never seen her do before, and something she usually abstained from. He could feel her eyes on him as he stood with Clara, locked in conversation as he steadily downed the rest of his drink. He was feeling light-headed by the last sip.

Clara scurried off for more, and when she returned, he resolved to take this one slower.

The minutes and hours bled by, until eight thirty became ten thirty, and Mikkel had the alarming realisation that this must be what it was like to be drunk: logic and reason no longer taking precedence, not seeming quite so important anymore, along with the sense of losing grip of your inhibitions. The room was a spinning blur as he searched for Hannah, who had spent the night by Katharina’s side. And, of course, Ulrich’s.

He’d long sent Clara to take a seat on the sofa: she wasn’t taking her drinks quite as easily as Mikkel, and was already wobbling on her feet by the time she’d finished her second. It was the first time Mikkel had really ever spent time with Clara without Max or any of his other friends in close quarters, and she was remarkably easy to talk to. Mikkel didn’t need any spirit in his drink to realise she was growing into a very attractive girl, evident in the way even boys much older than her would cast her sly, hungry glances from across the room. It made Mikkel feel somewhat protective of her, and when he’d sat her down on the couch, he’d brought her a glass of water, wobbling a little himself as he’d plotted his way across the room.

In a world where Mikkel had not met Hannah, perhaps he could have seen himself with Clara: she was fun, she was kind, she was pretty. Ines would surely have liked her. But when she’d leaned in to kiss him right there on the sofa moments after he’d brought her the glass of water, he’d realised it simply wasn’t to be: her lips had touched his for barely a second before he’d gently pushed her away and brought the water to her attention instead.

There hadn’t been a pause in time like there had been that day when Hannah had leaned into him, that day when the skies had thundered and the winds had whipped around them as Hannah had pressed her lips to his. Any butterflies any his stomach remained still, unmoved, no stirring and fluttering of delicate wings.

‘You’re drunk, Clara,’ he’d said softly, watching her down the water gratefully. ‘I’m going to get some air, okay? I’ll be right back.’

And so it was now that he stood, scanning the room for Hannah on his way to the door, but without any luck. He wondered if she’d seen what had transpired between himself and Clara: come to think of it, he hadn’t seen her on his way to grab Clara’s glass of water, either. Despite petty jealousy being the reason he was even here in the first place, he privately hoped she’d been in the bathroom or outside when Clara had kissed him. He felt so light on his feet, so separated from his own body, so free of concern as he crept across the room, a part of him wanted to wait right there until she came back, and pull her into his arms when she did so. An uninhibited part of his brain reckoned it would be the greatest of any of his impulsive ideas to just kiss her right there in front of everyone, secrecy and sneaking around be damned.

Realising with a twist of his stomach that these were the unrestrained fantasies of someone clearly victim to intoxication, he hurried for the door and gulped the cool night air gratefully as the bitter chill nipped at his face, his hands. It immediately swept over him, sobered him, a least a little. The stars in the night sky only quivered and trembled: they didn’t swirl and spin like the world had back inside.

A very merry teenage boy offered Mikkel a cigarette, which he declined. After ten minutes, he headed back indoors: Clara was now joined on the couch by Ben, and they appeared deep in discussion, if not both rather intoxicated too. Hannah, it seemed, was still nowhere to be found. He assessed the staircase that lead upstairs.

She might be up there: and if she wasn’t?

Well, he could peek at his old room, anyway. Just for a second, he could see it again.

With a last glance over his shoulder at Clara, and figuring she would be fine in Ben’s company for a few minutes, he placed a hand on the bannister and took the stairs slowly, still a little dizzy.

The landing greatly resembled the hall downstairs: grey wood panelling and dated wallpaper obscured the walls, and the contrasting silence pressed at his ears, his skull, so contradictory to the reverberating noise that flooded the lower floor.

Mikkel could see the door to his old room: it was ajar, a warm glow leaking from the room into the deep shadows of the landing where he stood.

He took a shaky breath, walked purposefully across the landing to the door, placed a hand on the cool handle, and pushed it open.

The bed stood in the same corner as Mikkel’s once had, surrounded by beige walls and matching bedding. Twin lights hung on the wall above a shelf showcasing a selection of figurines, and the words ‘No Future’ plastered the wall just beyond the foot of the bed. There was a bookshelf, a small rug… it was a bedroom like any other boy’s, yet it remained pristine, untouched, unclaimed. Mads’ parents… Mikkel’s grandparents… clearly, they still hoped he might return.

And although the room appeared different to how he remembered it, how it had been when this room was _his_ … he was surprised to feel a wave of familiarity wash over him, stinging the backs of his eyes as he pressed his nails into his palms to calm himself.

But he wasn’t surprised, however, to find Hannah sitting on the bed.

‘This was Mads’ room,’ Hannah said softly, watching him observe the room soberly. ‘Ulrich’s brother.’

Mikkel nodded absently, not really listening, so consumed as he was with half-memories: a room that felt so painfully familiar yet so distinctly unfamiliar in unison.

‘They just leave it like this,’ Hannah went on, sitting on the edge of the bed and wringing her hands in her lap. ‘Exactly how it was the day he disappeared. As though one day he’ll just come home as if nothing happened. Like the last four years were just a glitch in the matrix or something.’

‘Maybe he will,’ Mikkel said quietly. ‘Maybe he’ll come back.’

Hannah watched him closely before she shifted slightly on the bed.

‘Sit with me, Michael?’

Mikkel glanced at the spot on the bed beside her as she patted it expectantly, and with a sigh he settled himself beside her. He could smell the heady scent of sweet alcohol mixed with perfume.

‘Clara really seems to like you, doesn’t she?’ Hannah said casually, still watching him, gauging his reaction no doubt. ‘The way she kissed you back there.’

‘Hannah,’ Mikkel said wearily, with no idea of what to say next. He was suddenly feeling rather sleepy since sitting down: if only this were still his room, this bed still his own, so he could lie down and sleep until the sun came up.

‘No, it’s fine, Michael,’ Hannah went on with false brightness, looking away and scanning the room through barely focused eyes. ‘You go back down stairs and kiss her. Kiss her all night for all I care. _Sleep_ with her if that’s what you want. I honestly couldn’t care less.’

‘Hannah,’ Mikkel repeated sharply. ‘Stop.’

‘Why should I?’ Hannah spat testily, turning to him. ‘Didn’t you come here with Clara tonight to make me jealous, Michael? Isn’t this what you wanted?’

‘No,’ he lied. He knew that Hannah knew it too. She knew he was lying games: that perhaps he was playing her games as well as she did.

‘Was she a good kisser?’ she asked quietly after a few tense moments came and went.

No,’ Mikkel replied absently, studying the floor and marvelling at the notion that his feet had once crossed this floor, so many times, in another life. And then Hannah’s words caught up to him: ‘What?! I don’t know! It was over before it even started! You must have seen me push her away.’

‘You should go back downstairs to your girlfriend,’ Hannah said scathingly, joining him in studying the floor. ‘She’ll probably be missing you.’

Mikkel turned to look at her, bringing his hand to her face and lifting her chin so she would meet his eyes once more. ‘I’m sorry, Hannah,’ he said earnestly, not entirely sure what he was apologising for: everything and nothing. For playing games. For being jealous. For thinking about her in his most private moments. For wishing she would want him like he wanted her. For secretly hoping she did.

‘The room won’t stop spinning,’ Hannah said gently, all the dripping acidity of her earlier tone drained away. ‘I think I drank too much.’

‘Why’d you do that, Hannah? ‘ he asked her, still lifting her chin with his hand and tracing light circles into the soft skin of her jaw with his thumb. ‘You never drink.’

‘Things change,’ she said pointedly. ‘People change.’

But Mikkel wasn’t listening anymore. His was watching her closely now, eyes slowly flickering to trace her lips and then back again. His inhibitions were still lowered, and his heart pounded in his chest to a frenzied and frantic beat as he considered his next move.

‘Don’t you want to kiss me, Michael?’ Hannah asked in barely more than a whisper.

She let him draw her face closer to his own, eyes wide with anticipation and lips waiting as he began to lean toward her, closer, closer, until the moment he was about to lose himself in Hannah: her scent, her taste, her very being.

‘Michael, wait,’ she said breathlessly, drawing him to a halt, eyes still locked on his. ‘Why do you have three eyes all of a sudden?’

Mikkel raised a brow in confusion, and confusion quickly transformed into exasperation as he lowered his hand and withdrew from her, feeling the wave of anticipation and the thrill of desire dissipate until something inside him felt hollow and incomplete.

‘You’re drunk, Hannah.’ And as he said those words, he knew it too: this had been a very bad idea. Desire didn’t overrule decency: he could never kiss Hannah now, like this, in this moment. Not when she was so intoxicated. Not when he was, too.

‘So are you,’ she muttered dejectedly, eyes rife with disappointment. She sighed, worrying at a loose thread on her sweater. ‘This is why I don’t drink, you know. My mother was a horrible drunk.’

Mikkel tried not to appear interested at this unexpected admission from Hannah, who never spoke of her mother. He softened under the spell of her disclosure, and stood, offering Hannah a hand and pulling her up to stand before him. An invisible thread of tension hung between them once more, filling the air they shared, bodies inches from one another. Mikkel became fully aware of his height, Hannah a good head shorter as she lift her head to peer up at him, daring him to lean in once more, and silently promising that this time she wouldn’t allow the influence of intoxication to spoil the moment.

He shifted, leaning over to pull back the blankets on the bed.

‘Get some rest, Hannah,’ he said, taking her by the arms and ushering her into the bed gently: she made no reservations, quietly letting him guide her beneath the sheets until she was tucked in like a twelve-year-old instead of the seventeen-year-old she really was. ‘Sleep it off.’

‘Will you stay with me?’ she asked, pulling back the covers at her side and watching him hopefully. ‘Just until I fall asleep?’

Mikkel evaluated the situation warily: anyone could come inside and find them in bed together. It would raise questions. Start rumours. Perhaps Hannah had forgotten the risks in her current state. She would probably regret such a bold invitation in the morning.

He glanced from Hannah to the closed door and back again. With a sigh, he climbed into the bed beside her, crawling beneath the covers until he lay awkwardly beside her, staring up at the ceiling and feeling like a traitor, lying in the bed in the bedroom of a missing kid: not just any missing kid, but his own uncle.

‘Katharina sleeps in here sometimes,’ Hannah whispered, reading his mind. ‘Ulrich, too. When he... when he’s missing Mads. Don’t worry, it’s not totally off-limits.’ She turned her head to look at him. ‘Promise you won’t leave me until I fall asleep, Michael?’

Mikkel continued to study the ceiling, marvelling at the strangeness of the situation: not only the one he had found himself in in that very moment, but the situation that was his life in general. There was a numbness to his thoughts, as if he couldn’t really feel any kind of emotion about it at all. If anything, in his current state, it was almost… comical. So bizarre, so crazy, so utterly impossible that he almost chuckled to himself.

Hannah gave up on waiting for an answer, shifting beneath the covers until she was facing away from him and waiting for sleep to take over. 

It was a short while later, when he wasn’t sure if she was asleep or awake, that he finally answered.

‘I promise I won’t leave you, Hannah.’

*

It was an hour later when he left her. He’d drifted off despite his best efforts to stay awake. He wasn’t sure what had woken him at first, but when he scoped the room, the door was ajar: he was quite sure it had been completely closed before he’d climbed into bed.

He shifted meticulously so as not to wake a sleeping Hannah, crept from the bed and slipped from the room. The party was still thriving despite the clock on the living room wall revealing it was almost midnight. It was as if he’d never slept at all. Clara and Ben were still flopped on the couch, except now they were furiously glued to one another lips.

Mikkel hesitated before breaking them apart and using the house phone to call Max, who he prayed would still be awake as they had planned. He seriously hoped neither of the Döhring parents answered the phone.

If there was a God, he was hearing his prayers: Max’s sleepy voice sounded from the receiving end of the phone, irritable but quickly alert when Mikkel asked him to sneak out and collect Clara from the Nielsen house as they had arranged.

When Max arrived and Clara had been dealt with, he bid them goodnight and set-off on foot back to the Kahnwald house (a bike had been a impractical form of transport with a six-pack of beers on your person), leaving his old home behind him.

It was well past one o’clock in the morning when he arrived home, scoping the perimeter to ensure all lights were off and Ines was soundly asleep, safe in the knowledge that Mikkel was still at Max’s place for the night.

He used his keys to let himself inside, creeping across the threshold on tiptoe until he was safe in his room: it would be a case of hoping Ines didn’t ask questions when he exited his bedroom the next day and told her he hadn’t been able to sleep, and had decided to walk home when the safety of dawn had settled on the streets of Winden… as opposed to the darkness in which he had just travelled, growing increasingly sober and as such increasingly anxious with every passing step. She didn’t push too much these days: a level of trust was expected between them after what had transpired last month. As such, it afforded him a few more risks. It also left him feeling considerably more guilty when he did so.

With a sigh, he threw himself onto the bed, once again settling beneath the bed covers and once again feeling like a traitor in another boy’s room. His first thought was of Daniel: not a missing kid, but a dead one.

But then he thought of Jonas, too: this would surely have been his room. Or would be.

He let sleep take him over before he could dwell on the thought much longer.

*

_January 7 th 1990 _

When the New Year arrived, so did some unexpected news.

On the final day of the winter holidays, before school was due to reopen the following morning, Regina invited Mikkel, Max and Charlotte to the café, which was also due to open its doors the very next day.

It looked unrecognisable to how he’d seen it last: wood-panelled walls and polished oak tables filled the room, the feature wall displaying a rich, forest-green wallpaper where a large painting of the lush Winden landscape hung with pride, a gift from Mikkel himself. The rest of the walls were covered with colourful paintings, posters and prints, and potted plants sat in various corners, lending an earthy ambiance to the cosy hangout. There was a stocked antique bookshelf in a corner beside a sofa, which was concealed by throws and pillows in varying shades of cream and green and bolstered by a collection of generous pouffes. A large wool rug completed the set-up. Every round oak table came complete with a candle at its centre, and numerous hanging lights lit the room with a cheery, warm glow. A chalkboard behind the bar displayed the menu, handwritten in chalk and complemented by the occasional doodle of a steaming coffee mug or slice of cake.

‘This is… this is incredible, Regina,’ Mikkel said in awe as he drank in the sight of it. ‘I can’t believe it’s even the same place.’

Regina smiled weakly, seemingly on edge. ‘I’ve been wanting to tell you guys something,’ she said anxiously after a brief tour, seating them at a polished oak table and pouring them each a mug of coffee. ‘Something I found out on Christmas Day. It’s been unbearable, keep it a secret, let me tell you. It’s about… a gift I received.’

‘Oh no,’ Max mocked as Regina took a seat and clutched at her own steaming mug of coffee. ‘Listen, Regina: if Alex bought you some kind of kinky present for Christmas, that’s between you and him. The rest of us _don’t_ want to know, thank you very much.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ Charlotte said with a devious grin, until all of them were stifling snorts at the table.

‘No, no, nothing like that,’ Regina went on when she’d recovered. Her face took on a very sober expression at her next words. ‘It’s actually about the… the Doppler mansion.’

‘What about it?’ Mikkel asked, intrigued.

Regina surveyed them all, still clutching her mug and worrying at her lower lip. After a deep breath, she said quietly, ‘well, it’s… it’s mine now.’

‘What do you mean?’ Max quizzed her, much more seriously now.

‘What I mean is, is that the mansion was left to Helge Doppler, being Bernd’s son and all, after he died. But Helge didn’t want it, and he hasn’t done anything with it, just left it vacant while he lives out in his cabin in the forest. And… well, according to Bernd’s will, if Helge chose not to take on the property, he wanted the mansion to be left to… to me, instead.’

Regina peered around at the matching perplexed expressions her friends wore at this news before explaining further. ‘It took some time to confirm things: I had no idea. But because of Helge’s… Helge’s accident… you know, the car accident… well, he’s had a few… a few problems… you know, mentally… they had to be sure he was sound of mind enough before they could confirm that Helge had no interest in the property. It was recently transferred into my name instead.’

‘Well, scheisse,’ Max remarked in awe. ‘But I don’t understand… why would he leave it to you?’

Regina sighed. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps… perhaps because my mother was his successor in running the plant? I believe they were friends. They worked together for years, and he respected her. That’s my best guess. I can’t really think of any other reason. Unless…’

‘Unless what?’ Mikkel pressed.

Regina paused, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. After a while she looked to Mikkel, smiling grimly. ‘Unless nothing. I’m just… I’m still in shock. I just always assumed it would go to Peter, after Helge,’ she said, looking to Charlotte in the chair beside her.

Charlotte shook her head. ‘I don’t think Bernd knew Peter existed: he only arrived in Winden days after Bernd was murdered, and it seemed as if Helge never spoke of him before then. I’m sure, if Bernd had known, it would’ve gone to Peter.’ When Regina put her head in her hands, Charlotte placed a comforting hand on her back. ‘Don’t feel bad, Regina. Peter has no interest in the Doppler mansion, either,’ she assured her. ‘It’s much better served under your care.’

‘I thought this place was a massive undertaking, a huge commitment,’ Regina faltered when she eventually resurfaced, looking overwhelmed and on the verge of tears. ‘And now I own the biggest building in Winden, too.’

Mikkel didn’t really know what to say to that. Neither did Charlotte, who glanced at him furtively when Regina wasn’t looking. Max, however, came to the rescue.

‘Old Bernd must’ve really liked your mother,’ he said quietly, taking a sip of coffee and watching Regina over the rim of his mug.

*

_January 1990_

The new year saw the welcoming of a new decade, and there was much speculation on what the nineties would bring, particularly in terms of technology, which was still in its primitive stages but already beginning to advance into something that still only vaguely resembled the sort Mikkel had left behind in 2019. It was funny, how quickly he’d learned to adapt without it, he marvelled somewhat bleakly: the urge to _Google_ something had long since left him, and the idea of a mobile phone had since become as much a novelty to him as it was to his friends.

The start of the new school term also saw Mikkel reunited with Hannah since their last encounter at the Nielsen house party: as was tradition, the moment shared between them in Mads’ bedroom went undiscussed and unresolved. Mikkel didn’t push the subject: he wasn’t sure he even wanted to. He suspected the fact that Clara was now back to dating Ben had alleviated the situation somewhat, and Hannah was being perfectly friendly with him: well, friendly by Hannah’s usual standards, at least.

Clara, meanwhile, was being noticeably cooler with Mikkel, much more so than was normal: even when she had been dating Ben the first time, she’d always reserved a smile for Mikkel. Now both he and Max were on the receiving end of her frostiness, and while this wasn’t atypical between the siblings, it had left Mikkel feeling somewhat confused and hurt. When Max had learned Clara was dating Ben again, however, he had grown incensed: ‘but he _cheated_ on you!’; ‘you don’t get it, Max, I _love_ him!’

Mikkel couldn’t understand why Clara, who had always been so completely smitten with him, had now chosen to ignore him, going so far as to disregard him completely since their return to school. He could only assume it was a result of unreciprocated feelings, his putting an end to their kiss before it had even begun. Mikkel hadn’t filled Max in on that one just yet: it didn’t need to be made more of a thing than it really was. Not that Clara had expressed any gratitude regarding his silence on the matter.

Why were girls so _confusing_? It seemed it wasn’t only Hannah who had the ability to leave Mikkel feeling baffled: they were _all_ a mystery.

Regina’s café also saw its grand opening to the public and the residents of the rural forest town: simply christened ‘ _The_ _Teademann’_ , the haunt opened its doors at the beginning of January and had so far received a very positive reception, such as it was a welcome refuge from the endless cold and rain. Regina had employed a handful of staff, and had offered each of her friends a position should they need it: Charlotte, however, was busy with her training at the police department, and Max had agreed to take on a job over the summer. Mikkel, too, had expressed interest in working at _The Teademann_ over the summer, but without any real conviction: he’d already planned to invest as much time as possible over the summer investigating the caves. It had been a long time now without answers: much too long. If he was ever going to find a way back to the future, he had to commit himself completely.

And so it was that life went on, an endless cycle of school, homework, lazy afternoons at _The Teademann_ , and the occasional exploration of the caves whenever time permitted it. As normal a life as one could expect when you’d travelled back in time with no way out.

_March 1990_

The arrival of Spring melted the frost-bitten landscape of Winden under a mellow and buttery sun, a weak glow that glimmered and gleamed and reflected in the lingering mist that had settled in the streets and forest of the town like an ethereal phantom.

Mikkel’s fifteenth birthday passed and, as always, existed only as a sombre and lonely affair. A time for reflection, something he did less and less as the days, the months and the years went by. As a child he would count down to this day: another year older, another year wiser. Another step closer to becoming a man. Now all he wanted was to go back, not as the young man he was now, but as the little boy he was then. Back to the safety of naivety, to a time when he existed only as Mikkel Nielsen and no one else. Back to a time when he wasn’t forced to choose between this life and the one he’d left behind. Back to a time when he didn’t spend fruitless hours searching seemingly infinite caves without really knowing _why_ anymore, knowing only that it gave him a sense of purpose. 

Trying to recall memories of his old life had begun to feel like a form of torture. He could never think on them for too long.

In fact, he just wanted to stop thinking at all. He just wanted it all to end. He just wanted to sleep.

He just wanted to wake up.

_July 1990_

The last day of the academic year saw Hannah leaving her school days behind her.

A much less remarkable event than the year before, Mikkel had watched Hannah slip from the school doors without looking back. Hannah had addressed this during one of their lakeside meetings (despite she and Regina’s mutual dislike of Nikolas and the fragile bond in which this had created between them, Hannah had yet to set foot in _The Teademann_ ); she had confessed to Mikkel that school had never been quite the same for her as it had for Katharina, who had found comfort in the hours spent inside the safety of the school walls and away from her mother, and who had enjoyed the perks of popularity. For Hannah, meanwhile, school had not been the same for her since the day Ulrich and the last of her comrades had left. Mikkel tried to keep his face impassive at this news, tried to ignore the irritable fog that clouded his mind at the mention of Ulrich. For now, it seemed, she was relieved to leave the place behind her. The subject of what she would do with her life next, however, was still as ambiguous as Mikkel’s own future. She didn’t yet know who she would become: Mikkel wondered if he already did. And while Hannah had whiled away the hours fantasising over grand plans of studying photography and travelling the world, Mikkel had questioned the direction of his own existence.

 _What_ would he do with his life?

 _When_ would he do it? Here in the past? Or in the future?

 _Why_ had this happened to him? Was it really predetermined? Did it actually serve a purpose?

 _Who_ would he be?

Because the truth was, Mikkel felt as if he had already lived two lives: the first, as Mikkel Nielsen, a normal boy living a normal life in a normal house with a normal family. Or so he had thought.

The second, as Michael Kahnwald, the boy from the future who no longer knew where he belonged.

But who would he become next? Who would he be in the third life? Would he go back to being a Nielsen? Remain a Kahnwald? Become someone else entirely? Would he be anyone at all?

This was the greatest mystery of all: his own future, which remained unclear and uncertain before him, like the final pages of a novel left blank and waiting to be written.

*

_August 1990_

Mikkel was investing much more time exploring the caves this summer than he had the last.

It seemed that somewhere along the way, it had started to become an obsession.

Ines had suggested filling his ample free time by taking up Regina’s offer and joining Max in accepting a summer job at _The Teademann_. But wasted hours spent serving coffee at the café meant hours away from the caves, and as a result wasted opportunity to stumble upon a breakthrough. It meant leaving a literal stone unturned. It meant resigning himself to reality. It meant giving up. 

Afternoons spent at _The Teademann_ with his friends, or else at the lake with Hannah, saw Mikkel consumed instead with his plans for the caves later that day, or with how he might build upon his ever-expanding map. His magic kit had long since begun collecting dust. Even his paint set sat neglected as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months.

It had been almost four years.

And now, he had an idea.

His priorities were changing. 

Perhaps his friends had noticed. 

Perhaps he didn’t care. 

*

_November 4 th 1990 _

Before Mikkel knew it, the first year of the new decade was beginning to draw to a close.

And for the first time in four years, he wasn’t dreading his autumn birthday. In fact, he was looking forward to it.

Because Mikkel had come to a conclusion: perhaps it was that the tunnel, the crossing, the bridge between time… perhaps it was that it only revealed itself at a _certain time_.

He almost wanted to kick himself for not making the connection sooner.

He had travelled back on the evening of November fourth. He wasn’t certain of the exact time, but he was prepared to search the caves all night if he had to. As long as he was there on the evening before his birthday… well, perhaps there would be no birthday after all. Perhaps he’d wake up back in… 2019? 2023? Would it always move a person through time periods of thirty-three years? It seemed logical, but then… nothing about any of this was logical.

But the point was… if he woke up in the future the next morning, there would be no need for birthday celebrations. The only celebrating he would be doing would be of the family reunion sort.

If… if they remembered him. If they still cared.

If they hadn’t moved on without him.

*

With his birthday falling on a Monday this year, November fourth was a Sunday, and the last day of the autumn break.

Hannah had been to visit the capital with her father that week as a birthday treat, a very different city almost a year on from the fall of the Berlin wall, according to the news. Mikkel had no first-hand experience, of course: the wall had been down for over two decades the last time he had set foot in Berlin.

She returned to Winden early that afternoon, and as Mikkel had agreed to meet her at the lake at three o’clock, he had little choice but to drag himself away from the caves, pick up his bike, and set off for the lake, glancing at the hulking beast beyond his shoulder as he sped away: he would be back soon enough. In a few short hours, after his meeting with Hannah, he would return.

But then, this might be the last he ever saw of Hannah, if his suspicions were correct.

Sometimes, sacrifices had to be made.

Still, that didn’t soothe the uneasy, heavy feeling that had settled in his heart, his body and his bones as he cycled past the wilting brush and melange of bronzing trees on his way to the lake. Hannah was already waiting for him as he dropped his bike beside the log and threw himself down at her side.

‘Happy belated birthday,’ he said with a false grin, watching Hannah as she looked out across the steel lake. It was as if he felt the urgent desire to drink up the sight of her in that moment, lest one day he forget just how lovely she really was. How painful it would be to let her go. ‘How was Berlin?’

Hannah shook her head, studying the glass surface of the lake as it swelled and rippled beneath a deepening sky. ‘I’m an adult now, Michael,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m an adult.’ She turned to him with wide eyes. ‘What the hell am I going to do now?’

‘I don’t know, Hannah,’ Mikkel remarked with a shrug. ‘Do stuff that adults do, I guess?’

She glanced at him then, as if he might have inadvertently said something suggestive. She sighed, picked up a pebble at her feet and threw it haphazardly into the lake, where it sank beneath the surface as if it had never existed at all.

‘Do you think I’ll ever get married?’ Hannah asked distantly, still observing the spot in which the pebble had disappeared as if it might defy the laws of gravity and resurface. But then, if he himself had managed to defy the laws of space and time, who was to say gravity was nothing but a lie, too?

‘I, uh… erm… I… I don’t see why not. Who wouldn’t want to marry you?’

‘Would you?’ Hannah asked him faintly, turning to gauge his reaction. ‘Want to marry me, I mean?’

Mikkel blanched: he’d never deigned to think that far ahead. If he were to fail in finding the crossing in the caves, or some other way back… if he were destined to remain here… marriage, children, all of it, would surely be off the cards. Wouldn’t it?

And with Hannah? That could… that would _never_ happen. And yet… there was something he so desperately wanted to do before he left her behind.

‘Is this your way of proposing to me, Hannah?’ he chuckled nervously, trying for lightness. When Hannah raised an unimpressed brow, he relented. ‘Well, you know, I don’t have to think about that kind of adult stuff yet.’

Hannah scowled and turned back to the lake ahead. ‘That’s not answering my question, but whatever.’

Mikkel fumbled at a stray thread at the sleeve of his sweater, wishing Hannah hadn’t chosen today of all days to question her future when his own hung in the balance. ‘Well, you know what we always used to say… a question asked for a question answered and all that.’

‘I remember,’ Hannah remarked with the ghost of a grin. ‘That feels like a long time ago, now.’ She appraised him thoughtfully. ‘You know, I still owe you an answer.’

‘You do?’

‘I do,’ she confirmed, edging imperceptibly closer to his side. ‘And you still owe me a question.’

‘I… I can’t really think of anything I want to ask you right now,’ Mikkel muttered, knowing that was a lie. He wanted to ask her who she was, really. Who would she become? Did she ever think of him as he thought of her? If he kissed her now, would she let him? Would she kiss him back, or move away and call him a fool?

‘Well, maybe another time, then.’ Mikkel didn’t fail to notice the distance she put between them once more.

‘Yeah, maybe,’ he said, feeling like a fool anyway. He looked out across the expanse to the distant cluster of trees in which he knew the cave entrance was concealed, waiting for him to make his move on the chessboard, daring him to believe in a few short hours he would outsmart his opponent: time itself.

‘Why do you always do that?’ Hannah asked him abruptly.

‘Do what?’ he said, dragging his eyes away and forcing himself to meet Hannah’s. ‘I’m not doing anything.’

‘You’re always looking off in the direction of the caves,’ she said bluntly. ‘You’ve been doing it all summer. And now you’re doing it again.’

‘I… I didn’t realise I was doing it,’ Mikkel answered honestly.

‘Well, you are. So if there’s somewhere else you’d rather be, Michael, feel free to go ahead and leave. I won’t stop you.’

Would she try and stop him if she knew what he had planned this evening? Or was she so unbelievably stubborn she’d let him walk away without a word?

‘No, I want to be here,’ he insisted candidly, reaching for her arm without thinking: she didn’t object. ‘With you. Really.’

Hannah’s eyes glanced down to where his hand lay on her arm, then travelled to meet his steady gaze once more. These tentative touches were nothing new between them, yet they never failed to quicken his pulse and stir at something low in his abdomen, even in spite of the many winter layers between them. There was something undeniably enigmatic in the way she was looking at him now, and Mikkel privately lamented his own inability to read her thoughts as well as she could his. He let his hand fall to his side, and Hannah bit her lip before reaching for another pebble, rising to her feet and aiming it once again into the depths of the lake. She turned to him, then, the chill breeze stirring her hair as she searched him for answers she had yet to find.

‘It’s been four years,’ she muttered in little more than a whisper. ‘And I still barely know you at all.’

*

Afternoon transformed into evening as the minutes and hours ticked by, iron clouds evaporating only to be replaced by a smattering of stars like crushed diamond in an ink sky, casting the world into a contrast of fractured light and deepening darkness.

‘It’s getting dark,’ Hannah observed a little after six, taking Mikkel’s wrist to check his watch. ‘I have to go soon.’

‘Right,’ Mikkel said quietly as she dropped his hand. He felt odd: he’d spent the last four years desperately wishing to find a way to leave this place, to go back. Now he wasn’t sure he wanted to leave at all. He felt nauseous, he felt angry: angry at the world for putting him in this position in the first place. Angry at the so-called God which had put him here, if there really was any truth to his existence at all.

If this was all some intense and chaotic nightmare, then, well, it was a very long one indeed. If only he were able to wake up right at this moment, the first thing he would do is write a book about it all. He sat on the log at Hannah’s side, leaning over and wringing his hands, so deep in his thoughts that the world around him became black, like an invisible curtain had been drawn, throwing a room into oppressive darkness. It was only when Hannah paused beside him and spoke next did it feel as if that invisible curtain had been pulled away to reveal the light once more.

‘Is everything okay?’ she asked with uncharacteristic concern.

‘I thought I still had time,’ Mikkel whispered to the ground at his feet. Hannah pressed a hand to his shoulder.

‘Has something happened?’ she asked softly. ‘You’re different somehow. Tonight, I mean. Something… something’s not right.’

 _Nothing’s right anymore_ , he wanted to say. _Nothing._

‘I wanted to tell you something,’ he said quietly after taking a steadying breath. He pulled her hand from his shoulder, took the other, too, and held them in his own. ‘I’ve wanted to for a long time.

‘What is it?’ She looked to their intertwined hands and then back to him, unable to disguise her surprise at such a forward gesture.

‘I wanted to tell you that… that…’

What did he want to tell her? Who he really was? What had happened to him? Or that he had wanted to kiss her again for as long as he could remember?

In the end, it didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

Somewhere in the distance, a rumble of thunder: the first drop of rain immediately followed, showering the pair of them in an earthy downpour and mocking Mikkel for ever believing he could shed even one of the lies that clung to him like the rain clung to his skin, his hair, his clothes. Mocking him for ever believing he could find any source of freedom, of true happiness, ever again.

‘Scheisse,’ Hannah hissed, pulling back her hands and racing to collect her bike. ‘Tell me tomorrow? I can meet you here when you’re done with school.’

Perhaps Hannah had misunderstood the significance of what he had been about to reveal: or, perhaps, she had understood perfectly, and for all her complaints of Mikkel’s lack of openness with her, she had chosen to run away at the first sign of honesty. Maybe she was as terrified as he was.

‘Tomorrow,’ Mikkel agreed, watching her disappear into the darkness and knowing that tomorrow was something he simply could not promise.

*

The rain was still pouring when Mikkel arrived at the caves a little after seven that evening.

Every drop that drenched his coat and saturated his hair felt like a kick in the teeth and a punch to the gut. A damp and sodden reminder from the heavens themselves that he and Hannah were never meant to be. That there might never be another moment between them. That their story might be forever left unfinished.

When he walked into the caves, he might walk out into a very different world to the one he had left behind.

_He’d thought he would have more time._

Foolish, really. It had been four years.

And how could anyone have time, when time so clearly had everyone?

Mikkel dropped his bike beneath a cropping of ochre trees and made his way to the cave’s entrance, the stars his only audience in a velvet sky as black as the shadows that waited for him in the depths of those stone walls. He checked his coat pocket, felt the flashlight beneath his fingers; he checked the other, where the map still sat, folded and ready.

With a last glance behind him, Mikkel began to approach the caves, thinking only of his friends: of Max, Regina and Charlotte, who would likely believe Mikkel had met the same mysterious fate as poor Mads Nielsen; of Clara, who might forever be burdened by the way they had left things between them; of Ines, who he had held so close that morning he’d almost begged her to never let him go; and of Hannah, who he hoped would miss him as much as he would surely miss her. Even if she admitted it to no one but herself.

Just as Mikkel was a step away from the unknown, there was a crunch of leaves and a snap of twigs underfoot somewhere not far behind him. He turned, heart pounding as he inched for the flashlight and flicked at the switch, bathing the surrounding forest in blinding white light.

Someone peeled themselves from behind the cover of a large tree and began to approach him. Something small, not deadly at all, with long brown hair and…

The intruder was a mere feet away now, and he let the flashlight hit her like a spotlight, like she was the star of a show only the two of them and the stars above were witness to.

‘Hannah?’ he yelled into the rain, flashlight trembling in his hand. ‘What… what are you doing out here?’

‘I followed you,’ she said casually, folding her arms and considering him wisely. ‘Obviously.’

Mikkel was reminded irresistibly of a conversation they’d shared over a year ago. ‘You know, _some_ people might call that kind of behaviour somewhat _stalker_ -like.’

Hannah snickered. ‘I want to know why you’re always hanging around this caves. _Some_ people might call _that_ type of behaviour somewhat _strange_.’

Mikkel shook his head, drops of rain freeing themselves from his hair as he did so. ‘Well, maybe I _am_ strange,’ he muttered, throwing another glance behind his shoulder at the waiting caves beyond. A part of him was pleased to see Hannah again, but… he needed her to leave. ‘And you’re a stalker. What an unfortunate pair we are.’

Hannah watched him, unmoved, through wet lashes coated with beads of rain. When she didn’t respond, Mikkel cast around for something to say, anything to get her away from the caves. ‘I thought you had to go home?’

Hannah offered him a mischievous grin. ‘I said I had to go, not that I had anywhere specific to be. I wanted to know if you were going to head to the caves. And what a surprise: here you are.’

His heart was frantic in his chest, like a bird beating its wings against the bars of a cage. ‘Very clever, Hannah,’ he said coolly. ‘But you’re wrong. I just… I just thought I heard a noise on my way home, that’s all. I was just checking it out.’

Hannah glanced at Mikkel’s hand and raised a brow. ‘Is that why you’re carrying a flashlight?’

Mikkel looked down at the flashlight, still bathing Hannah in its pale glow. He inwardly cursed himself for spilling such an obvious lie when put on the spot: he was normally much better at it. ‘Where I go and what I do in my own time is none of your business, Hannah,’ he asserted sharply, switching off and pocketing the flashlight so that the pair of them became nothing more than shadows in the night.

‘No, I guess you’re right,’ Hannah agreed wisely, taking a step towards him. ‘And what _I_ do is none of _your_ business either. But that didn’t stop you from getting jealous whenever I so much as _looked_ at Ulrich.’

The bird in his chest gave pause. It wasn’t flustered and desperate anymore: it was angry.

‘I know why you were at the Nielsen party with Clara,’ Hannah said quietly. ‘You know I do.’

‘You know, this is rich, coming from you, Hannah,’ Mikkel countered scathingly. ‘Maybe if you weren’t so _jealous_ of Clara, it wouldn’t have bothered you and we wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place.’ He noted her resentful expression with mild satisfaction before adding for good measure, ‘and do I even need to mention Regina? Let’s not pretend that you don’t hate the fact that we’re friends.’

Hannah recoiled as though the attack had been physical rather than verbal, watching him with contempt, which only incited Mikkel further. ‘And I know you’ve been lying to me. About Katharina. She told me everything. That she knows about… about us. And I know you lied to her about how we met.’

Hannah had the good sense to appear embarrassed at this revelation, if only for a second. Then she deflated, unfolding her arms as if in defeat. Her gaze flickered to the caves behind him, then back again, all fury dissipating as quickly as it had come. ‘I can’t do this anymore,’ she said in a whisper barely audible over the torrent of the crashing rain.

‘Do what?’ Mikkel asked, wanting to maintain the ice in his tone but which melted at his next words. ‘I don’t… I don’t understand.’

Hannah stood before him, closing her eyes as if savouring the rain as it saturated her hair and spilled down her cheeks like new tears. ‘I’m tired, Michael,’ she relented moments later, opening her eyes and taking several cautious steps toward him. ‘It’s been four years. When are we going to stop playing these games?’

Some distant part of him wanted to take a step back, but Mikkel stood rooted to the spot as Hannah began to close the gap between them. He shook his head, confused and distracted: why did she have to look so beautiful, even as she stood there drenched and soaking wet before him? And why had the trapped bird been replaced by something that purred deep in his chest and stirred low in his abdomen, begging for his attention. ‘I always thought you liked playing games,’ he muttered, voice low and hoarse, without need to yell anymore, not with so little between them.

Hannah was watching him so closely now, and the beast in his chest almost roared with unexpected pleasure when he understood the look in her eyes as she took one final step toward him: it was _desire_. ‘Maybe I do. But I lost this one a long time ago.’

The downpour intensified, though it might well have stopped completely for all Mikkel cared. It could have been a bright and breezy July morning for all he knew anymore. It seemed as if all that existed right now was the wild, maddening, unfathomable girl before him, who was looking at him in that moment like no one ever had before, in a way that had him dizzy and rampant with some parallel longing.

‘You still owe me an answer to my question, remember?’ he reminded her, taking a step towards her until they were so close that he could feel her body pressed against his own, the dampness of her clothing; until he could smell the heady scent of cinnamon intermingled with earthy rain, and feel the heat that radiated from every inch of her despite the chill November air. 

‘What… what’s your question?’ Hannah asked breathlessly, raising her chin defiantly so she could meet his eyes: he was a good head taller than her at this point, something that was not lost on Mikkel and something that privately thrilled him.

His whole reason for being here, at the caves, on the night he had first travelled back in time four years ago, now lay forgotten in some distant and remote corner of his mind. Heart pounding, he took Hannah’s chin in his hand, revelling in the sensation of her wet skin beneath his fingers as his thumb stroked gentle circles into the fine edge of her jaw, moving to the corner of her mouth, subtly caressing the soft, delicate skin of her lower lip: all while she watched him through hazel eyes that were wide with anticipation and framed by long, wet lashes that were lowering, waiting, inviting him to move closer still…

The thrill of it was too much. Forgetting everything, forgetting all of it… the pain, the anger, the sadness, as if the rain had cleansed him of anything that wasn’t Hannah, he lifted her chin, bringing her closer to him before slowly, cautiously, leaning in toward her. The last thing he registered before his own eyes fluttered shut and the world became nothing but new sensations was the parting of Hannah’s lips as she wrapped her own arms around his neck, no doubt feeling the heat that lingered there like a burning flame, yet Mikkel found he no longer cared. Wanted her to feel it, even: to know the effect she had on him.

Like brush to canvas, the first touch of their lips was tentative but fleeting: a second later and Hannah was inviting him to explore her tongue with his own, until all he could feel and taste and breathe was Hannah, adrenaline coursing through his veins like lava as he melted into her, under a spell the like of which no magic trick could ever compare. It consumed him until he felt her fingers running through his hair, pulling him closer still, until the intensity, the heat of their frantic kisses propelled them into movement: Mikkel shifted his hands, desperately savouring every inch of her as they travelled lower and lower until they clung to her waist, tugging her towards him, mouths still feverishly exploring one another with a hunger so rife with desire that Hannah stumbled backward, Mikkel advancing with her, until Hannah fell against the mouth of the cave, her back pressed to the wall as she moaned faintly with pleasure beneath the crush of his lips against hers. Knowing he was responsible for this sent his body into overdrive, thrumming with satisfaction until Hannah extracted her arms from around his neck and her fingers from his hair.

For a wild moment, Mikkel almost paled with disappointment, until Hannah began unzipping her coat, shrugging it from her shoulders and casting it aside, revealing the thin, black sweater beneath, already beginning to dampen in the downpour. Mikkel followed suit, removing his own coat and tossing it to the ground as Hannah wrapped her arms around his neck once more, pulling him closer with an insatiable hunger until his mouth was on hers again and he realised he never wanted to stop kissing her ever again.

With less layers between them now, he could feel with more transparency the curves of Hannah’s body beneath his own as she pressed her back against the cave wall and arched herself into him, and Mikkel marvelled at the notion that she wanted to feel him as closely as he wanted to feel every inch of her. In those brief moments of clarity in which any form of coherent thought could take shape in his mind, he wondered only why they hadn’t done this sooner, why they had wasted so much time playing games when _this_ was what they could have been doing instead.

Mikkel had no idea how long they’d been lost in each other when they finally came up for air. The rain had receded to little more than a light shower, and the moon hung high in the sky like a bone-white marble. He could see it reflected in Hannah’s eyes as she watched him now, cheeks flush and her arms still around his neck.

_He had just kissed Hannah._

He had just kissed Hannah, and she hadn’t turned him away.

Had wanted it as much as he had, in fact.

He had just kissed Hannah and he had never felt so free, so alive, so complete. It had all felt so natural, so right, as if it were always meant to happen this way. As if there was simply no other possibility, no reality in which he could leave this life without knowing Hannah like this. 

‘Game over,’ she whispered breathlessly, pulling him back into the moment. ‘I win.’

Mikkel raised a brow, gently gripping her hips and pulling her closer to him. ‘Wait a minute,’ he said, voice low and hoarse as he fought to grasp some thread of reality following the moment they had just shared. ‘I thought you said you already lost this game?’

Hannah shrugged beneath him. ‘I make the rules: I can change them whenever I like.’

‘Of course you can,’ Mikkel conceded with a smirk, lips numb with the feel and taste of Hannah yet still aching for more. ‘How could I ever think anything else?’

Hannah grinned shyly and prodded him lightly in the chest with a finger. ‘You never asked me your question, by the way.’ She paused, bit her lip, then added, ‘I guess you could say we were… distracted.’

She eyed him wryly, and Mikkel blushed furiously, praying that the the pale moonlight would at least bleach out the colour rising in his cheeks. ‘I guess you could say that.’ He tucked a strand of damp hair behind her ear, brushed a thumb to her cheek lightly, then let his hand fall back to her waist. ‘It seems irrelevant now, but I wanted to ask you if I could kiss you.’

Hannah burst into laughter and Mikkel felt certain it was the most wonderful sound he’d ever heard in his life. She reached to press a light kiss to his lips, lingering but innocent in comparison to their earlier exchange. Not that it mattered: Mikkel felt positively weightless regardless.

‘Well, just so you know, my answer would’ve been yes,’ Hannah whispered in his ear a second later. She pulled him closer, revealing once last confession before the two for them began kissing feverishly once more, the cave and the stars and the night sky their only audience. ‘It’s been yes for a long time.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You made it! Congratulations, come have a hot chocolate with us (drug-free, I swear!) and take a break to process. 
> 
> So finally Mikkel and Hannah have admitted their feelings... kind of? I mean, physically, yes, but verbally? And where will they go from here? What’s up with Clara? What’s Ines keeping from Mikkel? Will he finally go and speak to his father up at the psychiatric ward? What about his grandmother? And Katharina? And why does a storm always brew at the worst moments? D:
> 
> PS: apologies for the TERRIBLE cafe name. The pun doesn’t work in German (‘tea’, I learned, is ‘tee’ in German, but that didn’t really have the same effect for me as an English speaker: I’m sorry about it lol).


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